The Hunger Games: Bones Edition
by Cassie Bones
Summary: I'm taking a little break in order to combine my two biggest obsessions in one kickass action/romance/bonetastic story. Check out who's playing who and then get to reading this special fic. Rated T.
1. CAST

**Okay, so the Hunger Games: Bones Edition will officially start as soon as I have completed the first chapter, but here is the list of who will be portraying who in my story, so that there is no confusion. Again, I urge you to read the books, whether as we go along or by reading ahead, because there will be some minor differences made in the book that are not in the movie. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the story and have no problems with who is who. Also, if you have any suggestions, I'm open to them.**

HUNGER GAMES CAST

Katniss Everdeen: Temperance Brennan "Bones"

Peeta Mellark: Seeley Booth

Primrose Everdeen: Angela Montenegro

Gale Hawthorne: Tim Sullivan "Sully"

Haymitch: Max Keenan

Effie Trinket: Daisy Wick

Caesar Flickerman: Hank Booth

Cinna: Gordon Wyatt

President Snow: Andrew Hacker

Marvel: Wendell Bray

Glimmer: Hannah Burley

Cato: Chris Pellant

Clove: Cam Saroyan

Male Tribute Three: Vincent Nigel-Murray

Foxface: Peyton Perotta

Tresh: Clark Edison (I KNOW! But he's the only person I could think of...and he's pretty buff!)

Rue: Michelle (Cam's daughter)

Madge Undersee: Rebecca Stinson

Katniss's Mother: Christine Brennan

Portia: Caroline


	2. Chapter 1

**Okay, so here starts the story and I've made a slight change in character. Instead of Max Keenan playing Haymitch's role, it will be Jack Hodgins. They will all have their Bones names, but I just didn't want to confuse anybody. Also, each chapter will coincide with the events of the actual book chapters, so they will most likely be very long. I hope you all enjoy this. **

**Part ONE: The Tributes**

Chapter One

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch, seeking Angela's warmth, but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course she did. Today is the day of the reaping.

I sit up in the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, squinting in the dimly lit, dank room. It's barely sunrise, as I can see by the small glimmer of light coming through the cracked window on the opposite side of the room, barely a meter away. I stand up and stretch, my back cracking slightly. The movement brings more relief than pain, as it should. Sleeping on that mattress is almost no better than sleeping on the floor.

I look across the room at my mother's slightly smaller bed. She's curled up in a ball in the middle and Angela curls around her, one arm resting over her waist, while the other hand rests by her cheek.

My sister looks so...fragile. So breakable, as if just touching her would cause her to fall to pieces. That's what makes this day so horrible. I would give up anything to save her from the fear of being reaped, as improbable as it is. To save her from being broken. I would die myself before I let that happen.

Quickly, I swoop over to their side of the room and gently brush a lock of Angela's long, black hair off her forehead, and press a soft kiss to her forehead, scowling at the hiss coming from the end of the bed.

I glare down at Angela's precious cat, Buttercup. I hate that damn thing. And I know for a fact he loathes me just the same, if not more. It was years ago, but I'm he remembers me trying to drown him as a kitten after Angela brought him, a starving, worm-infested kitten, home one day and begged me to keep him as a pet. At first, I was completely against that idea, taking him straight to the sink and plunging him into the soapy water, receiving scratches all up my arms and my sisters tears for my effort.

Angela's tears won out and I let her keep the mangy feline, giving her all the responsibility of feeding him. I wanted nothing to do with him.

That is, until he caught his first mouse and presented it at his girl's feet. Angela was disgusted by that mouse became an appetizer to our less-than-satisfactory dinner that night. I even fed him to entrails as a reward. Since then, he's been catching mice almost every night, and he's stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. Hissing. That's the closest we'll ever come to love. As long as I stay out of his way and he stays out of mine, this is satisfactory.

I cast one more glance at my beloved baby sister and her ungrateful pet and make my way to the tiny cupboard that acts as a closet for the three of us. I pull out one of my father's old plaid button downs, my old ripped jeans, and my hunting boots, that have molded to my feet almost like a second skin.

When I'm dressed, I put my hair into a long, simple braid down my back, grab my father's old hunting jacket and head out for the day. Before I leave, I run into the kitchen to find a ball of goat cheese under a wooden bowl, wrapped in basil leaves. Angela must have left it. I carefully slip the ball into my jacket pocket. I look at the cracked clock on the wall.

I have eight hours until the reaping.

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. May as well sleep in. If you can.

Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I only have to pass a few gates to reach the Meadow and separating that from the woods, closing off all of District 12, in fact, is a high chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire. In theory, it's supposed to be electrocuted, twenty four hours a day as a deterrent to the predators in the woods—packs of wild dogs, lone cougars, bears—that used to threaten our streets. But since we're lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, it's usually safe to touch. Even so, I always take a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live. Right now, it's silent. So, without second thought, I lay down on my stomach as slide right under the two-foot stretch that's been loose for years. There's several other weak spots in the fence, of course, but this is the closest to home.

As soon as I'm in the woods, I retrieve a bow and a sheath of arrows from a hollow log. The bow is one of my father's, one he carved by hand. He made about a dozen of them before his death. He was in the middle of teaching me to make my own, but I'm useless at it. I tried to get him to sell them once, but he refused, saying that it was too risky. And he's right. Arming the citizens of 12, even with just a handful of bows is just asking for trouble. So I keep them hidden, hoping for a day when they could be used without penalty.

As I make my way into the woods, my favorite arrow slung over my shoulder, my eyes and ears immediately begin scoping out game. Looking for deer tracks in the mud, cracked twigs, animal droppings, anything I could use to help me find some sort of creature worth cooking. As I step further into the woods, I stop by snares and traps I've set up, removing rabbits and squirrels alike, attaching them to my belt. I wonder, briefly, if Greasy Sae will take them off my hands. Perhaps the baker will buy another squirrel. She loves them.

I'm interrupted from my thought by a large crack from behind me. Automatically, my hand reaches back from my bow and I have an arrow loaded before I even take a breath. I turn towards the noise and very nearly shoot my best friend through the eye.

Sully ducks the arrow just in time and I sigh in relief as he falls over backwards, having lost his balance after ducking the arrow.

"What the hell, Temper?" Sully croaks, breathing heavily. "You trying to kill me or something?"

Temper. Short for Temperance, my full name. Like Sully is short for Sullivan, his last name. He came up with the name after he realized what a short fuse I have when it comes to hunting.

I'm patient enough to wait for game to arrive, but I can throw quite a hissy fit when my arrow misses and scares them off.

I cross my arms over my chest, narrow my eyes at him. "Well, you should probably watch where you're stepping. I thought you were a deer."

Sully scoffs. We haven't seen a deer in a long time. Not since we traded a doe to get Angela's goat. That was nearly two years ago.

"Figures that's what I get when I bring you this." he holds a bundle, wrapped in flimsy cloth, out to me, and my nostrils are invaded by a sweet, delectable, smell.

"What's that?" I ask, through my watering mouth. "It smells good."

Sully chuckles and unwraps the bundle. "It ought to. I traded a squirrel for it." the cloth comes away to reveal a large loaf of bread.

At the sight of such a delicious rarity, my stomach lets out a soft roar, that Sully must hear because he smiles at me. "Hungry, Temper?" He teases.

I scowl at him and reach into my pocket for the goat cheese, I hand it to him and he splits the bread in two, lengthwise, spreading the soft cheese and leaves over the bread, generously, before handing me a piece. I immediately take a large bite, moaning in pleasure of finally being fed. I barely ate anything last night after feeding both my mother and Angela a small dinner of squirrels and berries. It was barely enough to satisfy even them.

But the bread goes down smoothly and fills my stomach wonderfully. I sigh and lean back against a tree, sliding down to sit on the ground. I can rest a few moments while the food digests. Sully finishes his bread and sits next to me, his shoulder touching mine as we look up, past the trees, to the blue sky and white, fluffy clouds above.

All is silent for a few precious moments, like there's nothing wrong with the world, like we're just out here for a picnic together, and not trying to feed our families by poaching illegally...

And then he speaks, and it's over.

"You know we could run off together? Go live out in the woods. We could hunt and gather for food, raise a family, and never have to worry about days like this." he doesn't look at me as he says this, but it still pierces my heart with fear at what he's suggesting.

"We couldn't." I say. "I have my sister to think about. You have your mother, your brothers...Posy." Posy is Sully's baby sister. Not really a baby, anymore at five years old, but he has an undeniably soft spot for the little girl, like I have for Angela. He'll never be able to tell her no. He would never abandon her.

"We could bring them with us. Maybe Parker could marry Angela." he suggests.

I scoff. "Right, and maybe Angela will spend more than two seconds in the woods without being spooked by the first creature she sees." We both laugh. Angela is frightened of anything having to do with the forest. She won't even touch a bunny I bring home if she isn't completely sure it's dead.

"Well, we can wait then." he says, not letting it go. "Until they're all grown up, no longer eligible for the reaping, and if they choose to come with us-"

"I can't, Sully," I interrupt him, "I'm sorry. I just...I need to stay here. With Angela. If I leave her here with my mother...they'll starve. Neither of them can hunt."

Sully nods. "Well, I guess I'll just have to find somebody else to raise kids with in the wild." he teases. His words make my heart ache. Not for the reason you think, though. Sully's the best hunting partner I've ever had. Almost as good as my dad. Possibly better.

"I guess so." I respond, softly.

We sit there in uncomfortable silence for a while, until Sully breaks it, once more. This time he stands and brushes himself off. "Come on." he says, helping me up. "We've gotta get these to the Hob before the Peacekeepers, and _Daisy Wick_, get here."

I grin. Daisy Wick is possibly the most annoying Capitol official I've ever encountered, with her strange, multi-color wigs and dresses and her annoying Captiol accent, and that stupid phrase she uses every year. Not to mention her annoying, ever-lasting excitement over the Hunger Games.

If you don't know what the Hunger Games are, let me fill you in. In the Beginning, after this place, once called North America, fell, a group of survivors started to build their own country from its ashes. They called the country Panem. Panem was originally divided into 13 Districts and one Capitol. The Capitol ruled with an iron fist, until the Rebellion, in which the Districts fought against the Capitol. The Capitol, of course, retaliated, causing destruction and an outlandish amount of casualties in nearly every district and completely demolishing District 13. Now there were 12 districts, and each year, as penance for the Rebellion, one boy and one girl, from ages 12 to 18, from each district are chosen to represent their district in a battle to the death in an arena far from their home. Only one tribute survives. There can only ever be one victor.

For the Districts forced to participate, this is a horrifying event, for which we have to act as if we are excited every year for the cameras. For the Capitol, this is the most exciting and riveting event of the year.

Daisy is the very embodiment of that excitement.

"Happy Hunger Games!" I say, "And may the odds-"

"-be _ever_ in your favor!" Sully finishes, laughing, as we make our way out of the woods, carrying only the game received from the traps and snares set up days ago, and no new game.

We stop so I can discard my bow and arrows in the log and then make our way, under the fence, back into 12, to the Hob, where we'll be able to sell off our meat to Greasy Sae, the cook there, who sells her food to nearly everybody in 12, even the local Peacekeepers.

At the Hob, we sell Greasy Sae three rabbits and a squirrel for some money and a few bowls of her wild dog soup to take home. After that, we visit the butcher and trade another rabbit and a squirrel for a pound of wild turkey.

Then we split up the earnings and head home to get ready for the reaping, wishing each other luck. Sully's name is entered 42 times this year. Mine 20. This is because of the tessarae I need to feed my family. Each year, if you're poor like I am, you're allowed to sign your name is more times than it already is to gain tessarae, which is a meager year's worth of grain for your family. Being from the Seam, both Sully and I are practically required to do this. To keep our family fed. I've forbidden Angela from doing such.

It's just not worth it.

As I arrive home, I'm met by my younger sister standing in front of the front hall mirror, twirling about in a ruffled blouse and one of my old skirts. As she turns, I can see the back of her skirt hanging out in the back. I smile and walk up behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders to keep her from spinning again as I tuck the shirt back in. "Tuck your tail in, little duck." I say, affectionately, squeezing her shoulder. "There, now you look so pretty." She smiles, somewhat sadly, at me in the mirror.

"I have a dress for you, too." My mother's voice floats in from behind me. My eyes flash upwards to meet hers in the mirror.

Since my father died, my relationship hasn't been all that great with my mother. Because, after he died, after the consolatory food we received for the six weeks we were supposed to use to grieve, she was supposed to go out and find a job to support us.

But she didn't. She didn't do anything. For months. I tried to get her out of the house, to go down to the apothecary to work. Where her healing hands would be of great assistance to them. But, she would just brush me off and go back to bed. The only time she would ever leave that goddamn bed is when she had to use the facilities. Otherwise, she just stayed there.

And it was up to me to get food for us. Being only 11 years old at the time, I wasn't old enough to receive tessarae, and it was Winter at the time, so hunting was definitely out of the question. Especially by myself. I was too small, too scared, too weak.

So, I rummaged. Everyday on my way back from school, I rummaged for food in dumpsters behind stores, or I begged for a scrap or two to feed my sister and mother, who had to be kept alive or else they would have taken Angela from me. I almost starved to death so many times.

But that was then, this is now. And recently, I've been trying to make up with my mother by allowing her to help me, either by letting her cook with me or accepting the hand-me-downs she's been offering me for years, since my growth spurt, that I wouldn't accept because I so loathed her for leaving us in those crucial months after Dad's death.

And so that is why, now, when she offers to help me get ready for the reaping, I let her. I allow her to make me a hot bath, to help me scrub every inch of my body until it resembles cleanliness. I allow her to pick out one of her old, powder blue dresses for me to wear today. And, finally, I allow her to do my hair up in an elegant mess off braids that look so simple, yet so beautiful, almost like a masterpiece. And then I thank her and leave the room, without so much as a glance.

In the front hallway, I slip on my shoes and call for Angela, who shuffles out, looking miserable, but trying her best to look as if she's excited, and not scared out of her mind at the prospect of...of what is completely improbable, verging on the impossible. She can't be picked today. She just can't be.

I tuck in her blouse again, and help her into her shoes, allow her to hug our mother goodbye, and then I take her hand and lead her out.

Barely ten feet out the front door, she stops and I turn to her. She looks more frightened than I've ever seen her.

"What's wrong?" I ask, knowing the question is probably the stupidest I've ever asked.

She doesn't comment on the stupidity. She just answers. "What if it's me?" she asks. I can see tears in her eyes.

I shake my head and kneel down to her level. "It's not you. It can't be you. Your name is only in there once. It's one out of thousands. They won't pick you. The odds are _literally_ in your favor this year. Trust me."

Angela nods, not saying anything. This is one of the many things I love about my sister. She trusts me. No questions. No arguments. Just trust. Whole-heartedly trusts me. I smile down at her and squeeze her hand, leading her once more towards the square, where the first bells have just about to ring, signaling the beginning of the reaping.

My heart pounds so hard, I'm afraid it's going to break through my chest.

As we near the square, Angela's breathing gets ragged. I know it's from the pens set up to divide us by age group. Hers is the very back. Age 12's. Mine is closer to the stage. I squeeze her hand to reassure her, leading her straight over to the 12's.

"Name?" the man standing there asks. He's in a white Peacekeeper's uniform. He's not one of ours, though. Else, he would have recognized Angela. All the Peacekeepers were particularly fond of Angela.

"Angela Brennan." My sister squeaks out. The man goes through the list on the clipboard in his hand, finds her name, and nods.

"Go on in, Miss Brennan. And may the odds be ever in your favor." The man says, with a wide, insincere smile.

I let go of Angela's hand, give her one last hug, a whispered, "I love you." in her ear and let her go.

Then I look hard at the Peacekeeper, who smiles, still, back at me. I turn away and roll my eyes, before heading over to the 16's, my age group. A woman Peacekeeper goes through the same thing with me, the same old line, another eye roll, and I find myself standing amongst a group of my classmates, none of which I am particularly fond of, and likewise.

I stay quiet, like the rest of the crowd as, energetic and preppy, Daisy Wick takes to the stage, this year wearing a hot pink wig and matching makeup, caked onto her face, making her look deathly pale. And a lighter pink, pinstriped suit jacket and skirt. The fashion sense in the Capitol really is ridiculous, nowadays.

"Attention! Attention, please!" Daisy says, into the mic, as if we were all making so much noise. "Good day, District 12! And a happy Hunger Games to you all! Such a nice day, isn't it? For this magnificent event!" I roll my eyes. Even _she_ can't be that stupid.

Daisy goes on to talk about the history of the Hunger Games and the rebellion in Panem that is the cause of them, even showing up the same, ridiculous video they do every year. When that's over (Thank GOD!) she smiles at all of us, almost bubbling over with excitement.

"I just love that!" She announces. I swear, if it weren't for the outstanding number of Peacekeepers around, I'm sure she would have been shot dead by now. "And now," she says, "I would like to introduce a past victor of District 12. You may know him from around the square. Please welcome...Jack Hodgins!"

Jack Hodgins. The winner of the 50th Hunger Games, the year in which the number of tributes was doubled. I'm not sure how, but he won against 47 others, and since then, nobody in our District has won a single one. There was one before him, but they're long dead. He's our only Victor now.

He's also a notorious drunk. I've seen him at the Hob, paying in cash for bottles of whiskey and rum. His favorite, though, is red wine. He would buy that by the barrel if he could. He's there almost every single day. Sometimes I wonder whether he's stocking up or if he just polishes off the bottle as soon as he gets it.

Anyway, now, as he walks up on stage, it's obvious he's drunk again. Extremely drunk. I can practically see the whiskey fumes coming off him, can practically smell the noxious poison from here. I cover my nose, as do many of the people around me.

Daisy, now forcing her smile, leans the microphone towards him. "Mr. Hodgins," she says, wincing at the smell of the liquor, "do you have any advice for the young people here today?"

Hodgins gives her an incredulous look and takes a sip from the small, silver flask in his hand. Then he walks to his seat at the back of the stage, next to the Mayor, plops down, and promptly passes out.

He receives a few claps from the jokesters in the crowd, but then all is silent once again.

Daisy, undeterred, smiles at us once more. "I think," she says, choosing to ignore the whole scene with Hodgins, "it's time to choose our tributes. As always, girls first."

All female and male eyes alike zone in on her as she walks, the screen behind her, above the stage, magnifying her for those two far back to see her in person, as she walks to the left side of the stage, where the bowl with all the female names sits. She stops above it, smiles for the cameras, and sticks her hand in, making a show out of randomly selecting one of the many slips of paper in the bowl.

As she does this, my heart pounds harder and harder against my chest and all I can think is, "No, it's impossible. It can't happen. Her name is only in there once. Others, like Sully's, are in there over forty times over. There's no way-"

Daisy picks a piece of paper, finally, and unfolds it in her carefully manicured hands, taking a deep, dramatic breath, before reading out the name on the slip. My heart stops.

It's Angela Brennan.

**How is it so far! I've changed a few things and explained more than what was actually in this chapter to begin with. I hope those of you who are diehard fans (like me!) don't mind this. I will include as much of the book as I possibly can! REVIEWSSS please to let me know that I'm doing this right!**


	3. Chapter 2

**UPDATE! I'm glad that y'all liked chapter one, and the reviews I've gotten are prompting me to continue with it. Enjoy!**

Chapter Two

One time, when I was blind in a tree, waiting motionless for game to wander by, I dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on my back. It was as the impact knocked every wisp of air from my lungs, and I lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That's how I feel now, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak, totally stunned as my sister's name bounce around inside my head. I feel somebody gripping my arm. It's a boy from the Seam, and I think maybe I started to fall and he caught me.

There must be some sort of mistake. It can't be Angela. Her name is in there once. Only _once_. Out of thousands of names, entered multiple times, only a dozen are entered just once, hers one of them. These names are supposed to have the best chances of being ignored. Yet, my sister's name has been called.

How can that be?

Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen, thinking it unfair. And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched so tight her knuckles are white with the pressure, taking stiff, small steps towards the stage. As she walks by us, I can see that her blouse has become untucked in the back, once more. It's this detail, the untucked blouse forming a ducktail that brings me back to myself.

"Ange!" I call out, or try to. The word gets stuck in my throat on the first try. I clear my throat and call out again. "Ange! Angela!" I begin moving through the crowd, not needing to shove as each and every person makes way for me, knowing that I am this unfortunate little girl's sister. I reach her just as her foot lands on the first step. I pull her behind me, protectively.

"I volunteer!" I gasp. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There's some confusion on the stage. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has become rusty. The rule is that once a tribute's name has been picked, another eligible boy or girl may volunteer to take said tribute's place in the games. In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a great honor, people are eager to risk their lives. But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.

"Marvelous!" Daisy exclaims. "But I believe there's the small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and then if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, unsure herself.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor. He's looking at me with a pained expression on his face. He doesn't know me really, but there's a faint recognition there. I am the girl that sells him strawberries from the forest. The girl that his daughter, Rebecca, might have spoken of on occasion. He girl who, five years ago, stood huddled with her mother and sister, as he presented her, the oldest child, with a medal of valor. A medal for her father, vaporized in the mines. Does he remember that? "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."

Angela is screaming hysterically now. She wraps her arms around my waist from behind. "No, Temperance! No! You can't go!"

"Angela, let go." I say, harshly, because this is upsetting me and I don't want to cry. When they televise the reaping tonight, everybody will make note of my tears and I'll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction. "Let go!"

I can feel somebody pulling her from my back. I turn to see Sully standing there, a writing Angela in his arms, fighting her way back to me. She trashes in his arms like a toddler, but he simply smiles at me. "Up you go, Temper." he says, brightly but I can see the unshed tears in his eyes. I turn away from him and make my ascent up the stairs to the stage.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Daisy Wick. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name, Dear?"

I swallow hard. "Temperance Brennan." I say, my voice shaking and choked.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" I want to punch her so hard right now, but I resist. "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know my from the Hob, or my father, or have encountered Angela, who nobody can help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

And then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me. But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take Angela's place, and now I seem to have become somebody precious. At first one, then another, until soon everybody presses the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

I am seriously in danger of crying now. But thankfully Hodgins chooses that moment to come up next to me and slings his arm around my shoulder. "That a girl!" he slurs, loudly, the smell of alcohol on his breath making me lightheaded. "What spunk!" He turns and points at a person in the crowd. "She's got more than _you_!" The smallish, eighteen-year-old girl he points at smiles slightly. He points to somebody else. "And you!" Another person. "And you!" He points to Daisy. "_Definitely_ more spunk than you!" He removes his arm from around her shoulder and staggers up to the edge of the stage. "She's got more spunk in her little finger than all of you have in your entire bodies, combined!" He exclaims to the crowd, before succumbing to the alcohol and falling off the stage, dead-drunk.

Daisy scowls down at him and orders a couple of guards to help him up and remove him from her presence. They do as they're told and drag an unconscious Hodgins into the Justice Building behind us, all cameras trained on him, giving me just enough time to let out a small, choked sob and for Daisy and I both to compose ourselves as the cameras land back on us.

Daisy smiles brightly, as if unaffected by Hodgins's little distraction. "Well, that was...well, never mind what it was. Now, let us get back to the task at hand; the reaping!" She walks over to the boys' bowl and sticks her hand in, immediately plucking out one of the small, folded slips of paper and carrying it with her back to the mic, smiling brightly for the cameras as she unfolds it and clears her throat. "And your male tribute to take place in the 74th Annual Hunger Games is...Seeley Booth!"

_Seeley Booth_! Oh no! Not him! Because I recognize his name, though I have never spoken directly to the owner.

No, the odds are definitely not in my favor today.

I watch him as he takes to the stage. Muscular build, tall, spiky dark brown hair, brown eyes the color of warm chocolate. His usually tannish skin is pale and the cocky smile that I've often seen him wear around his friends at school is gone, replaced by a look of absolute terror. The shock is taking over his body little by little, his steps becoming a bit more shaky, his back stiffer, as he walks up the steps to the stage. Then he is standing barely four feet away from me, his face losing all the fear and emotion it possessed just seconds ago, now looking as if it had been carved into stone.

Daisy Wick asks for tributes, but nobody volunteers. He has two brothers, but one is probably too old now, and the other is young, still selfish. Besides, family loyalty only goes so far on the reaping day.

The Mayor begins to read from the _Treaty of the Treason_, as he does every year, but I'm not listening to a word.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself that it's not my problem. Seeley Booth is the enemy now. Either I will have to kill him or he will have to kill me. Or somebody else will kill us both. Either way, his life is no longer important to me. It never has been. Not really. We've never even spoken to each other. Not on the streets. Not at school. Not even when I visit the bakery. Our only real interaction happened years ago. I doubt he even remembers...

It was during the worst times, during my own personal Dark Days, about three months after my father's death. The numbness of the loss had passed and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over with pain, causing me to fall to the ground, my body wracking with sobs.

The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death. Enough for one month of grieving, at which time my mother was expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but lie in her bed, often huddled in a fetal position, mumbling incoherently to herself, crazy with grief. Once in a while, she would stir, as if suddenly energized by the need to do something, anything, but then that would pass and she would be back in her bed, curled up in the fetal position, as if nothing had changed. No pleading from either me nor Angela seemed to be able to change that.

I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time all I knew was that not only had I lost a father, but a mother as well. At the age of eleven, with Angela only seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it the best that I could manage and tried to keep myself and Angela looking presentable, because if it had been found out that my mother couldn't care for us, we'd be taken away and placed into a community home. I've seen those kids at school. The sadness, the bruises and cuts all over their bodies, and the hopelessness they displayed...I couldn't let that happen to her. Ever. Sweet, tiny Angela, who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason. Angela, who brushed and plaited our mother's hair every morning before she went to school. Who still polished our father's shaving mirror because he'd hated the layer of dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The Community Home would crush her like a bug. I couldn't let that happen.

So I kept our predicament a secret.

But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself that if I could only hold out til May. May 8th, I would turn twelve, then I could go to the Justice Building and sign up for tessarae and get the precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We'd surely be dead by then.

On the afternoon of my encounter with Seeley Booth, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare baby clothes of Angela's in the market, but there were no takers. And although I'd been to the Hob several times with my father, I was not yet brave enough to venture in there myself, so I settled for walking through the alleys and yards behind the stores, peeking into garbage cans for food that somebody may have discarded. Even a head of rotted lettuce would have sufficed. But I found nothing, shivering as the rain soaked through my father's old hunting jacket. I was shaking so hard, I dropped my bundle of baby clothes into a puddle of mud. I didn't dare pick it up, for fear that I would keel over right there and never return to my feet.

I couldn't return home empty-handed, so I continued to scavenge, the hope in my heart diminishing with every empty can I found.

Finally, I reached the backyard of the Bakery, where the smell of bread wafted through the cracked-open back door, and a pen filled with pigs smelled of manure and filled with mud, which the pigs took pleasure in rolling around in.

I practically ran to the garbage can next to the small building, lifting the lid and peering in, my heart dropping at the rotted apple cores and other inedible objects littered in it. This had been my last hope. Tears began to stream down my face as the last trace of hope disappeared from my heart.

Then I felt a jerk as a handful of my hair was tugged, pulling me back with it. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" A gruff voice growled in my ear, as the hand that grabbed me pushed me down to the muddy Earth.

I looked up to see the Baker's husband, a harsh old man who resembled Seeley a great deal, except for his eyes. Where Seeley's held a warmth and caring spirit, this man's were cold and uncaring. The piercing of these eyes caused my heart to jump in abstract fear. "N-nothing." I stammered.

"You stay out of my trash, you little Seam brat! I'm so sick and tire of you little bastards going through my trash every single day! Stay out of here, got it?"

I nodded and backed away quickly, until my back hit a tree and I was too weak to move anymore.

Then I saw him. The small, brown-haired little boy, my age, that looked so much like his father, yet so different, standing behind him, having come out the back door to see what all the commotion was about. He looked surprised to see me, and I could swear he was blushing, probably embarrassed for me, or ashamed of his father's treatment of him.

His father turned and ordered him back into the kitchen. I watched them leave, hopelessness filling both my heart and my empty stomach. I closed my eyes for a few moments, almost succumbing to my imminent fate.

Then I heard a loud slap, and the door to the Bakery opened just as Seeley was pushed out by his father, a large, red hand print covering half his face and two half-burned loaves in his arms.

"Feed those to the pigs, you useless boy!" His father growled. "No use for burned bread. Nobody would buy it, anyway!" Then his father was gone, and Seeley was ripping off pieces and throwing them to the pigs, who gobbled them up greedily.

Oh, how I wished he would throw some to me. Just a piece and I could gain the strength to go on! A piece would be all I needed...

He must have read my mind that day, because not two seconds later were there two loaves of bread, one partially ripped off, at my feet. I looked up, preparing to thank him but he was already gone.

My first thought was _Why_? Why would he risk a beating to give me this bread? He barely even knew, yet he risked his father's wrath to save my life. Me, a girl he barely knew.

My second thought was interrupted by the sound of my chewing as I gobbled up half of the first piece of bread, filled with nuts and raisins, and utterly delicious.

Then, gathering the bread in my arms, I stood and raced home, plopping the bread down on the counter, where Angela sat, doing her homework. She immediately reached for a piece but I slapped her hand away, making her wait until I had it sliced and on plates. Then we dug in. I even got Mother to eat a few slices in bed, before allowing her to curl back in for sleep.

We feasted on bread that night for dinner, and then for breakfast the next morning, packing away some for lunch at school, where I was on the lookout for him, the boy with the bread. But every time I caught his eye in class, or in the hallways, he turned away from me, blatantly ignoring me. Was he angry at me for getting him in trouble with his father? It was him who offered the bread! I never even asked, though I thought about it, sitting there cold and hungry, under the tree.

I never did get a chance to talk to him, to thank him for his kindness. I almost did when I saw him walking home that day, but then he got too far ahead, almost like he was walking fast on purpose, and I lost sight of him. I found this odd. Normally, he stuck around the school a bit longer with his friends. And on the day I wanted to thank him, he was gone. I looked down at my feet and leaned against the building. I had some time to myself before I had to pick Angela up from school.

That's when I saw it. The first Dandelion of Spring. And just like that, I knew things were going to be alright. That little Dandelion meant that hunting season was about to begin. It meant hope.

But, now, as I stand here, all my hope has vanished, because for the first time in my life, I will be forced to socialize with the one and only Seeley Booth, the boy with the bread, the boy who saved my life five years ago. How am I going to be able to focus on killing him with that little tidbit going through my mind?

The mayor finishes the Treaty of the Treason and motions for Seeley and me to shake hands. His are solid and warm, and send a thrill up my arm that shocks me so much that I almost immediately let go. But his hand squeezes mine before I am able to. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm, but there's something unidentifiable in his face. He let's go when his eyes lock on mine.

Then, we're turning back to the audience, our hands being clasped and lifted by Daisy's as the anthem of Panem plays. "Your newest District Twelve Tributes!" Daisy exclaims, over the music.

Of course, I think, there are twenty-two other tributes fighting with us from other Districts. Perhaps one of them will have the task of killing him before I do.

I hope so.

Though, the odds have not exactly been in my favor lately.


	4. Chapter 3

**Update! **

Chapter Three

The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. Not handcuffed, or anything like that, but a couple of Peacekeepers march us through the door of the Justice Building. I've heard of tributes trying to escape-I suppose now that's why they do this-but I've never seen it happen before in my lifetime. The foolish attempts of such tributes probably stopped well before my time. Either that, or they don't show it on television, lest it start another Rebellion.

Once inside, I'm directed to a room and left alone. It's the most extravagant room I've never been been in before. With deep, velvet carpeting, and plush sofas and chairs. It smells of perfume; sweet, rich, and flowery. I take a deep breath and sink, slowly, into a chair, forgetting myself for a moment.

Then Mom and Angela are here and I remember...

I am Temperance Brennan. I live in District 12, where I have just volunteered to fight in a game to the death, in place of my little sister. My sacrifice will most definitely save her life, but it might just as definitely end mine. Here I am, in this beautiful, comfortable, sweet-smelling room, to say goodbye to them-my friends and family. Perhaps for the last time.

My breathing begins to get shallow, but then Angela is crawling into my lap-like she did as a toddler-and I remind myself to stay calm for her sake.

I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly, not even worrying that I'm hurting her, because she's squeezing me back just as tightly. Our mother comes around to my side and wraps her arms around the two of us. Then we just sit there for a moment, wrapped in one big embrace.

The moment is over quicker than it began as I begin telling them all the things they must remember to do, now that I won't be there to do it for them. I forbid Angela, once again, from taking any tesserae. It's not worth it. Besides, they can get by, if they're careful, by selling Angela's goat's milk and the cheese she makes herself. Then, there's the small apothecary business my mother runs in the Seam. She makes next to nothing with it, but it's better than nothing at all.

Sully will bring her herbs for medicine-the ones she needs but doesn't grow herself-and he'll bring them meat. He won't ask for anything in return, but they should offer him some sort of compensation. Perhaps milk, or medicine.

I don't even suggest Angela learn to hunt. I've already tried teaching her a few times, and it was disastrous. The woods terrified her, and whenever I made a kill, she'd get all teary-eyed and insist that we bring it home to heal it.

Besides, she makes out well enough with her goat, so I focus on that.

When I'm done with instructions on fuel, and trading, and staying in school, I turn to my mother and grip her arm hard. "Listen to me. Are you listening?" She nods, alarmed by my intensity. She must know what I'm about to say. "You can't leave again," I say.

My mother looks away. "I know. I won't. I couldn't help what-"

"Well, you have to help it this time. You can't just space out and leave Angela on her own. I won't be there to take care of you this time. So, no matter what happens, you have to be here for her. _Promise_." It's not a request.

She tugs her arm from my grasp, her eyes flashing angrily. "I was ill. I could have treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."

"Then use it." I hiss. "Because Angela can't afford to lose us both. That would kill her." I take a deep breath and soften my voice. "Just prmise you'll be here for her, if-" I can't form the words past the lump in my throat, but she seems to understand.

"I promise." she says, squeezing my hand reassuringly. I nod and accept another hug.

"It'll be alright, Tempe." Angela says, still situated in my lap. "But you have to take care, too. You might be able to win. You're strong enough."

I nod, even though I know it's very unlikely. My odds of winning, against those from other districts, who are larger than I am, and definitely stronger, who see the Hunger Games as a great honor, who have been trained in the art of killing probably since they took their first steps..._Those_ are the ones who have a real chance of winning. But me...I'll probably die on the first day. I'll be lucky if it's quick and painless, like I know so many of the deaths aren't.

I don't mention this to Angela, of course, for fear of upsetting her any more than I already have by volunteering myself for the Games in her place. Instead, I force a weak smile.

"Maybe." I say, pushing a lock of black hair behind her ear. "Then we'll be as rich as Hodgins."

"I don't care if we're rich," Angela insists, "I just want you to make it back home. Promise you'll try everything you can to win. _Swear it_." Her brown eyes bore into mine, desperately. I can't refuse.

"Okay." I relent. "I swear. I'll be back here before you know it." I know, as soon as the words leave my lips, I must follow through and try as hard as I can to win, so I can keep my promise to Angela.

A Peacekeeper arrive to let us know that their time is up. I throw my arms around them, one last time, and squeeze them both harder than ever before, and they return the favor. I take this moment to memorize their faces and scents for I may never see, smell, or hear them ever again.

"I love you," I whisper in their ears, "I love you both."

They say it back to me, their voices choked with emotion, before they're pulled away from me and out of the the room, altogether.

When they're gone, I sink back in my chair and bend over, placing my head between my knees, as if keeping myself from getting sick. I hear the door open again with the arrival of my next guest. Expecting it to be Sully, I look up, my eyes widening at the sight of the Baker.

Peeta's mother stands there, smiling shyly at me. "Hello," she greets.

At first, I'm shocked. Why would she be coming to visit me? I mean, I'll be trying to kill her son any day now, to save my own life. Is this some sort of plot she and her son have hatched up to lower my defenses? That must be it! Why else would she be here? But as logical as that idea sounds, I dismiss it almost immediately. The Baker, this sweet woman, is not like that. Maybe her abusive bastard of a husband is, but she's most definitely not. She's sweet, and kind, and caring, and she absolutely _adores_ Angela. She always gives Angela twice the amount of bread her goat cheese is worth, and even sneaks her a piece of cake from time to time, when her husband is not around. He would never allow her to trade with anybody from the Seam, especially not 'brats' like Ange or I. But the Baker seems to take the risk of defying her husband when it comes to children like us, down on their luck and unable to afford anything decent to eat. I doubt she'd ever hit her son the way her husband so often does. She is far too kind.

The Baker looks very uncomfortable as she steps into the room and sits down, awkwardly, on one of the couches adjacent to me. She's tiny, unlike her husband and sons, so she looks like a rag doll sitting on such a big, plush sofa. She barely weighs enough to sink in to the cushions. I remind myself, almost jokingly, that I should watch and make sure she doesn't disappear between the cushions. Her eyes are brown like her husband and children's, too, but a much lighter brown, like honey. I can see features that she and Seeley share; the dimples in their cheeks, the shape of the eyes and the bridge of the nose. Other than that, though, Seeley looks almost identical to his father. I wonder if that's true for his brothers, too. I haven't seen much of them around, in school or otherwise.

Another moment of awkward silence passes while I study her, then she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a small, white package. She hands it to me and I unwrap it. Inside, I find cookies, a luxury we can't afford in the Seam.

"Thank you." I say, almost in a whisper. "I...I had some of your bread earlier this morning. My friend, Sully...he traded you a squirrel for it." She loves squirrel, for some reason. Treats it as a delicacy. It's the only thing she ever buys from me whenever I come round. "Not your best trade," I joke, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't work.

We're quiet for another moment. The Baker is not very talkative, never really was, not even in her shop. Today, she says nothing at all. She just sits there, awkwardly staring back at me. As if waiting for me to say something else. It's not long before another Peacekeeper comes to summon her. She coughs, lightly, and stands up, smoothing down her skirt, and makes her way to the door.

Just when she is about to exit, she turns back. "I'll keep an eye on her for you," she says, "make sure she's eating." Then she's gone.

I know she's talking about Angela, and I feel immediate relief. At least she'll be taken care of, food-wise, in case my mother breaks her promise, with both Sully and the Baker making sure she's fed.

My next guest is almost as unexpected as the previous one. It's Rebecca Stinson, the Mayor's daughter. The girl my age, who I sometimes sit with at lunch, with long golden-blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea.

Rebecca, unlike Mrs. Booth, doesn't hesitate to come straight toward me and throw her arms around my neck. "Temperance." she says, tightening her hold on me. "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She leans back to look me straight in the eye. "You're so brave..." She backs away from me and pulls something out of her pocket, handing it to me. "They let you wear something from your District, as a token; something that symbolizes home. Will you take this as your token?" She opens her hand and I can see the small, circular, golden pin, the one she always wears on her collar, the one with a small bird in the middle, its wings outstretched as it catches an arrow in its beak, it's face turned forward. The only thing attaching it to the gold hoop is the tip of its wings, the rest of it hangs, seemingly, in midair.

I'm taken aback by her request. "Your pin?" I ask, "but, why-"

Before I can finish my sentence, she's already pinned it to my dress. "It'll bring you luck. Do you promise to keep it with you at all times? Even in the arena?"

I nod, dumbly. "O-of course. But, why...?"

Rebecca shrugs and gives me one more hug, then a kiss on my cheek, and then she's gone.

My final guest is somebody I actually _am_ expecting. Sully arrives, escorted in by yet another Peacekeeper. "You have five minutes left." he says, gruffly, before exiting.

Sully and I both nod, and as soon as the door is closed, he embraces me. It's an embrace I never want to leave, so warm and inviting, and smelling of home. It'll probably be the last thing of home I'll ever smell again, so I lock the memory away in my mind for later comfort in the arena.

"Listen," he says, breaking the silence between us, but not letting go yet, "Getting to a knife should be pretty easy, but you have to get to a bow. It's your only shot."

"But they might not have any bows." I remind him. "They might just make us use our muscles and our minds."

Sully chuckles. "Good thing you have both then, huh?" I don't laugh back and he gets serious. "Look, Temper, if they don't have any bows, then make one. You know how. Even a weak bow is better than none at all."

I have tried copying my father's bows with poor results. Maybe no bow is better than any I can create.

"There might not be any wood." I argue. There have been a few years like that, with snowy mountains or dry desertlands, where most of the tributes died of dehydration. Those were the years with no trees or trees so frozen, even a chainsaw wouldn't be able to cut through them.

"There's almost always some wood." Sully says, arguing back, "Ever since that year half the tributes died of cold. Not much entertainment in that, is there?" Another failed attempt at lightening the mood.

"Yeah, there usually is some," I relent, finally, knowing the attempts will most likely be useless, but I'll try. I'll try because I know he's be watching.

"Remember," he says, "it's just hunting. Just like with animals."

"But these are people, Sully. Like you or me. Some have families to take care of, people who will be heartbroken, or lost, if they're killed."

Sully holds me closer, I can feel the muscles in his chest clench. "So do you." A Peacekeeper knocks on the door, alerting us to the fact that my time is up. Sully holds me tighter for a moment before letting go and the Peacekeeper gently takes my arm to lead me out. "You can do this, Temper," Sully calls after me, "Me, Angela, your mother, we all believe in you." The door opens and I'm pulled out. "Just remember; I-" the door closes and now I'll never hear what he wants me to remember.

"Don't let them starve!" I call through the door, getting practically dragged away by the Peacekeeper, praying to God that he heard me.

I'm led down the hallway and out a side door of the Justice Building, into a car. I've never ridden in a car before, and this one looks just like all the pictures I've seen in school, in our history books. Just like a metal, horseless cart, with softer seats and a wheel to steer instead of reins.

Daisy and Seeley are already seated in the car by the time I get there, and I take my seat next to her, with a window on my right side.

I take a sideways glance at Seeley, as Daisy goes on and on about how excited she is and how honored we must feel to be taking part in such as 'wonderful Panem tradition' as the Hunger Games undoubtedly is. Seeley's eyes are red and swollen, possibly with the effort to keep himself from crying, or possibly from the crying itself. Whichever it is, as soon as we reach the train station, I'm glad that I was able to conceal my own emotions so well, since there are so many photographers and reporters all around us, attempting to get our statements and a picture for whatever periodical it is they work for. I smile for them, not a genuine smile, but bright and wide and fake enough to convince them that it's real. So they compliment me on it. Seeley forces his own smile; it looks nothing like the cocky, charming, heart-melting smile I'm used to him flashing at all the girls at school, the pretty ones...the _blonde _ones. This smile is so obviously forced, even to the reporters, who don't know him as well as I do. The muscles in his cheek are clenched and tight, making his dimples look almost like holes in his face. What's more, his smile doesn't reach his eyes like it normally does. Instead, you can see all the hurt, sadness, anxiety...nothing that even imitates happiness is in his eyes right now, so it's not surprising when the photographers stop taking photos of him and focus on me.

I'm glad, too. Despite the fact that I'll be fighting him, and possibly killing him, soon, I don't want the other tributes to see him as weak or emotional—that will just make it easier to target him in the beginning, get rid of all the weak links before moving on to the fun stuff.

So I take the limelight for a little while, trying to keep their focus off him, give him a little time to feel sorry for himself before we have to be off. I just hope he'll do the same for me if the opportunity ever arises. I can't exactly stay strong forever, after all.

After a few minutes of being photographed and interviewed, Daisy puts a stop to all the cameras, announcing that it's time to be off, and we all board the train, waving to the large crowd that has gathered around, no longer just filled with photographers and journalists, but also with other District Twelve citizens. And not a single one of them is smiling.

**REVIEWS!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Update!**

Chapter Four

When the door closes us off from the outside, we are very nearly encased in cool, darkness, save for a single, small window looking out at all of the solemn, stolid faces watching the train as it begins to move.

I don't feel a thing as I watch the faces whiz by, distorted by the speed of the train. Seeley and I just stand there, watching the faces pass by as Daisy's voice buzzes in the background. Suddenly a warm hand grabs me by the wrist and shakes it gently. I start and look up, into Seeley Booth's warm, chocolate eyes.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice genuine with concern.

I nod. "I'm fine." I practically choke out. I notice his eyes are still swollen and red. "Are you?" Unconsciously, he uses the hand that's not still holding my arm to rub at his eyes.

"I'm gonna be okay." he says, shrugging.

I nod, locking eyes with him for a moment before Daisy's voice cuts in to my thoughts and I look her way. She's smiling brightly, showcasing her perfect white teeth.

"Come now," she says, "let me show you to your rooms so you can freshen up for supper!" At the mention of food, my stomach begins to rumble. I haven't anything besides the bread and cheese today and I'm dying for some sort of meat. I hope there will be meat.

We follow her through yet another door into a long hallway, with two doors on either side and a door at the other end which I suppose must lead to the next train car.

"Seeley, the last door on the left is yours. Temperance, yours is the one across from his." She smiles brightly at us. "Dinner is at six o'clock, sharp. I expect to see you both there." She looks down at our clothes, the best we own, but still probably not up to Capitol standards. "There are some clothes there, and a shower, in case you want to make yourself look a little more...presentable."

Then she passes by both of us into what I assume must be her own room.

Seeley and I turn to look at each other. After a moment, he gives me a crooked, red-eyed smile. "Booth," he says, sticking out his hand. I blink at him and he chuckles. "I hate the name Seeley. You can just me Booth." I blink some more, my throat going dry. "You gonna tell me what you want me to call you, or what?" His tone, it's not mocking...more like _teasing_, and his smile is so easy, it makes the corners of my own turn up slightly.

I take his hand. "Brennan," I say. If he's going to go by his last name, I guess I'll go by mine.

See-_Booth_ smiles warmly at me. "Nice to meet you, Brennan. I just wish it was under better circumstances." At his words, my hand stiffens, but he doesn't let go. He just holds it for a second, his thumb rubbing slightly over the back of my hand. "I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't mean-"

I let go of his hand and back away. "It's okay," I assure him, "I just...I have to go." With that, I flee into my room, closing the door behind me and resting back against it, my eyes closed. The face of the Boy with the Bread flashes behind my eyelids for a split second and I'm forced to open my eyes, taking in the lush room in front of me.

This room...it's bigger than my entire house. It may even be _twice_ the size. The bed is at least three times the size of the one I share with my sister, with actual blankets and pillows that look as soft as clouds, with a canopy above it, transparent, green cloth coming down and around the bed like leaves, making it look so inviting. I forget my grumbling stomach for a moment as I run and jump, face-first, into the waves of blankets enveloping me with their softness. I let out a soft groan as I sink deeper into it, curling into the mattress and closing my eyes.

Which I open the second I see his face again. I quickly sit up in the bed, looking around at the beauty that lies before me.

There's a dresser on the wall to my left. It looks built into it, for all I can see is the front, as if it's just a poster of a dresser, there just to trick me. I stand up, my boots sinking into the soft, shag carpeting, and walk over to the wall-encased dresser. I reach out, running my hand along the handle of the top-most drawer. It' real. I can tell by the cold, metallic feel. This is definitely not a poster. I pull on the handle and the drawer slides smoothly out, revealing two small, neatly-folded piles of shirts. I take a silky-looking yellow one off the top and unfold it, the sight of the beautiful, fashionable shirt taking my breath away. Then I open the drawer beneath it and find two pairs of jeans and floral skirt. The skirt looks pretty, but I'm more interested in the jeans, so I slip one of the pairs, a dark-blue one with fading on the thighs, out and throw the outfit on my bed, along with some underwear I find in one of the bottom drawers. Once I have everything picked out, I strip, letting my mother's dress fall to the floor in a heap.

Then I make my way to the private bathroom, finding a room bigger than the one I have at home, with a toilet, bathtub, and a separate shower.

Tentatively, I step towards the shower and turn a knob labeled as, 'Hot'. Water comes gushing out of the shower head and I have to pull my hand away to keep from being burned. We don't have hot water in my house, unless you boil it. I reach around the spray and turn the 'Cold' knob, allowing the temperature to adjust before sticking my hand under the spray. Perfect.

I step under the water and moan at the pleasure I feel, almost at once, allowing the water to wash the day's stress away. I've never taken a shower before in my life, and now, I feel as if I never want to get out. I turn around, examining every part of this wonderful creation, my eyes catching on a series of buttons and spouts at one end. I press one of the buttons and some sort of thick liquid comes out, smelling of strawberries. This must be shampoo.

I take my time trying out all the different shampoos, conditioners, body soaps and oils before noticing how pruny my hands have gotten and I realize it must be late now, so I step out, looking for a towel, but seeing none. All I see is a large bar that looks like it should hold towels, but doesn't. Instead, there's a sign above it that says, "Put hand here," with an arrow pointing to the bar itself. I comply almost instantly, stiffening as I feel a current run through my body, causing my hair to fly up on end, before floating back down around my head, perfectly dry and straight. The current stops, releasing my body and I step away, holding onto my hand, realizing that I'm completely dry. This must be some sort of device they use in the Capitol to replace the use of towels.

Interesting...

I walk back into my bedroom and quickly get my clothes on, noticing that the clock reads a quarter to six. I only have a few minutes to get ready before Daisy will be at my door. I look around the room, searching for anything else I might need and my eyes land on my mother's crumpled dress on the floor, with the gold Mockingjay pin still attached to it. I reach down, pick it up, and remove the pin, attaching it to my shirt and fold the dress neatly before putting it on my bed.

I'm ready now.

I make my way down the hallway, to the dining car, walking briskly in bare feet, because I like the way the carpet feels under my toes, and step through the automatic door, the aroma of fresh food filling my nostrils the second I walk in.

The long table, which is situated in the middle of the room, is covered with delicacies I've only ever heard of before. There's chicken and beef, two meats I've never even tasted before, and some sort of fish, cut open and stuffed with something else I've never before seen and can't even remember the name of now, it's so rare. The pitchers on the table each hold a different color liquid I'm sure are different beverages but I'm not sure of the names or if they're alcoholic or not. The only thing I've ever had to drink was water from our own rusty sink at home.

The only thing I recognize is the basket of bread in the middle of the table, of which Booth has already taken a roll and begun buttering it. He sits there, across from Haymitch, who's drunk out of his mind, watching him down shot after shot of some sort of amber-colored liquid. When he spots me, he smiles, puts down the roll, and waves me over.

Daisy, who'd been sitting with her back to me, turns around to smile brightly at me. "Why, hello dear!" she exclaims. "Come! Have a seat, why don't you? We were just about to send someone to come after you." she motions to a red-headed girl in the corner, who avoids my eye, staring straight ahead. She looks familiar, but I can't exactly place her...

I walk over to the table and take the seat next to Booth, who hands me his already buttered roll and reaches for another. This action shocks me, but I don't question it. I dig my teeth into the roll, the unusually soft butter melting in my mouth. Whenever my mother attempts to makes butter, it comes out all lumpy and definitely not as smooth as this. This is just heavenly.

"Now that you're hear, darling, I think we can finally get to the main course." she motions to the redheaded girl, who nods and immediately begins to carve the large, plump chicken and separate it onto four plates. She does the same with the meatloaf and fish and everything else on the table until we each have heaping plates of food placed before us.

There is more on this one plate than I've had in the years since my father's death. I don't intend to waste any of it.

Booth must be thinking the same thing, because he immediately attacks the food on his plate with a fork and knife, tasting everything in turn, not taking more than two bites in a row of one food before moving onto the next. I follow his example and soon my stomach feels like it's about to explode. It's a good feeling, though. One I've never felt before, slightly painful, but I know from experience that an empty stomach is so much more painful. I place my knife and fork at either side of my plate and lie back in my chair, my shoulder brushing Booth's. His eyes are closed and there's a contented smile on his face. If it weren't for the absent rubbing of his hand on his tummy, I would think he had fallen asleep.

"Well," Daisy says, looking almost shocked by our apparent hunger, "I don't suppose either of you want dessert?"

As good as that sounds, I shake my head, the slight motion making me slightly nauseous. "I think we've both had a bit too much." Booth nods in agreement, the smile not leaving his face. "If you don't mind, I think I'll-"

My thought is interrupted by Hodgins, who suddenly stands up, on unsteady legs, the lid of an ice box in his hand. "Where the hell is the ice!" he roars. "All this goddamn money spent of food and drink, and some fancy shmancy train that goes two-fifty an hour and they can't even afford some goddamn ice for my goddamn whiskey? What the hell is this?" He knocks over the ice box, grabs the bottle of whiskey and begins to walk out, turning back once more to say something. But all that comes out is a bucket load of vomit, before he passes out in it.

Booth, Daisy, and I watch this entire outburst with wide eyes before Booth and I look at each other and burst out laughing, clutching our stomachs and wincing slightly in pain, but the pain can't seem to stem our laughter.

Daisy, who looked completely shell-shocked at first, quickly snaps out of it and glares at us.

"Oh, yes!" she hisses, "Let's all laugh at the drunk man responsible for keeping you alive!" Booth and I immediately stop laughing at her harsh tone. This is the first time I think I've ever seen Daisy so royally pissed off. It's definitely the first time I've ever heard her yell in anything other than excitement. She goes on, once she knows she has our attention. "You two may think it's funny now, when your stomachs are full and you're living in comfort, but once you're in that arena..._He's_ the one responsible for landing you sponsors. It has to go through _him_ what they are and are not allowed to send you. And he can't very well do that if he's drunk off his ass, now can he? Let me remind you, _both_ of you that you're district has not had a winner in over twenty years! And that is because the last person who _did_ win is laying right there, in a pool of his own vomit! You two better make sure that he gets his act together before the Games begin or else you have no chance of winning! Now, clean him up!" And, with that, Daisy storms out of the dining car. I can practically see the steam coming out her ears.

Booth and I look at each other, then down at our unconscious mentor. "What do we do now?" I ask.

Booth sighs and stands up. "I'll get him cleaned up. Can you just help me move him to his room."

I want to protest, my stomach now feels like lead and I'm suddenly very groggy and I don't really want to move one inch right now, but I know he probably feels the same way as I do, so I say nothing. I just nod and stand up, walking over to where Hodgins lay, avoiding stepping into the greenish-gray vomit. "I'll take his left side. You get his right." The right side has more vomit, anyway.

Booth nods and, using a dinner napkin, wraps Hodgins' right arm and begins to pull him up. I grab my own napkin and do the same with his left, lifting him up high enough to turn over before we begin to drag him through the door to his own room. I watch as the girl silently begins to tidy up, starting with the pool of vomit. I feel bad for her but not enough to stop and help at the moment.

When we get Hodgins into his room, we drag him until he's sitting upright in the shower. I'm really hoping Booth doesn't ask me to help undress him.

Thankfully, he doesn't.

"You go on," he says, "I'll bathe him."

I don't even pretend to argue. I just thank him, saying those exact words but with such meaning as if I'm thanking him for saving my life, and race out of there, into my own room, where I shower again and slip on a simple nightgown, before sliding between to sheets and closing my eyes. I'm halfway asleep when a disturbing thought occurs to me.

_He's playing you._ A small voice whispers in my ear. _The roll, offering to clean Hodgins, being so nice to you this entire time, crying, the cookies..._ I shake off that last thought. His mother had given me the cookies. Booth probably doesn't even know she did.

_Or,_ the little voice nags_, he's the one that set her up to it. To make you lower your defenses. After all, if you start to like this boy, will you still be able to kill him when the time comes?_

I shudder at this thought. It can't be true. Not about Booth. Not the boy who saved my life when we were both so young. He isn't like that.

_What do you know what he's like?_ The voice hisses. _You've never even spoken to him before the Reaping. You've never even _thanked_ him for saving your life. That, alone, is probably the reason he's going to try to kill you. He wasted two loaves of bread and a beating on you. And you're not even grateful in his eyes. _

It's this thought that moves me from my bed, and I begin to pace around my room. What if it's true? What if he _does_ resent helping me that day, because I didn't even take the time to thank him for his trouble. For his sacrifice. He probably _does_ want to kill me...

I stop in my tracks and look over to the dresser, where I'd emptied my pockets earlier. The only thing I'd even had was the small pack of cookies the Baker had given me. Without thinking, I snatch them up and bring them over the to window, opening it and throwing the cookies right out.

I haven't even taken a bite of one, and now I never would.

I will not let him win. I will defeat him, even if that means killing the Boy with the Bread...

**Sorry this took so long but I kept getting sidetracked. I'm sure the next one will take less time to write. Also, this is no longer going to go chapter by chapter, because I keep on adding some things and subtracting others at certain points, but it will relatively be the same and the point should make it across. I hope you still enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! REVIEWS!**

**P.S. I just want to share my favorite Bones quote from next week's episode that I just can't get out of my mind.**

**Saleslady: What size is she?**

**Booth: Well, um, she just had a baby...**

**Saleslady: Are we talking apples...or melons?**

**Booth is thinking...**

**Sweets:...Mangoes...**

**Booth looks at Sweets: You're looking at her fruit?**

**Haha! Can't wait until Monday! Sorry for the ADD moment, everyone.**


	6. Chapter 5

**It's midnight, I can't sleep and I'm updating...Enjoy!**

Chapter Five

I awake this morning feeling as if I've slept on a cloud. The usual aches that surround my body in the morning are no longer there and as I stand up, I find I no longer have to crack my back or neck as I stretch. Everything is already loose, and I love it. I swear, I could have gotten three hours of sleep last night and I would never know it by the comfort of that mattress. I've never felt anything like it before.

With my muscles feeling as glorious as they are this morning, I get up and make my way to the bathroom, relieve myself and wash up for breakfast. I don't feel very much like getting dressed at the moment, but I do take the time to but on a bra, tank top, and a pair of cotton pants, along with a pair of house shoes before I head out, making my way slowly towards the dining car. Through the window, I can see Booth sitting at the table across from Hodgins, while Daisy sits on the couch, sipping from a cup of tea and reading a small, leather-bound book with fancy script writing on the spine. She seems enthralled by the book and doesn't even seem to notice Booth speaking rather loudly to Hodgins about something, looking angry at the drunk man across from him, ignoring every word he says as he twirls the whiskey in his glass, his cloudy blue eyes glazed over like a dead man's would be, but there's no doubt he's breathing.

The door slides open and I walk through, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as I say, "Good morning," to Daisy and take my seat at the end of the breakfast table. Booth's tirade at Hodgins quiets down as he notices me walking into the room and I swear he's blushing. I look down at the clothes I'm wearing, still the same tank top and comfortable pants I'd put on not five minutes ago, not exactly immodest...so why is he blushing.

I do my best to ignore him as I take my seat and reach for a strange-looking roll, cut open, with a hole in the middle. I've never seen anything like it.

"Hey, Booth," I ask, across the table, causing him to look up in surprise, "what kind of bread is this?"

And I swear his blush deepens. I have no idea why. All I did was ask what kind of bread I'm holding. Does it have a dirty name?

"Th-that's a bagel." he says, clearing his throat. "You've never seen one before? We have them at the bakery. They're mostly bought at breakfast."

I shrug. Bagel...not very dirty-sounding. "I guess I just wasn't looking."

Booth mumbles something under his breath that I don't quite catch, but I don't ask. I just sit there, spreading butter on my 'bagel'.

Things are silent for a moment, with only the sounds of me spreading the butter with a silver butter knife and Hodgins' whiskey swishing around in the glass, while he takes the occasional sip. I look up and see Booth glaring at him. Hodgins must have pissed him off somehow, because before I can even blink, Booth's arm shoots out and knocks the whiskey right out of his hand, to the ground, where the glass shatters and the amber liquid gets absorbed into the carpeting.

I gasp, but the men don't seem to take much notice of it...well, Hodgins sends Booth a death glare, but other than that...

Daisy merely looks up, eyes wide, before snapping her fingers and looking back down to her book. The red-headed girl from last night, whom I didn't even see standing in the corner, springs into action, running over to the mess and kneeling down to pick up the small shards of glass with her bare hands. I stand up and make my way over to her, intending to help out but somebody grabs my arm. I look down and see that it's Hodgins, shaking his head slightly at me. I take this as a cue that helping isn't something I'm supposed to do here so I return to my seat, unable to keep my eyes off the girl, who seems to be slicing her hands with every piece of glass she picks up.

I want so badly to help her, and I'm about to ignore Hodgins and do just that when Booth speaks up.

"You _have_ to stop." he says, evenly. At first I think he's speaking to me and I open my mouth to retort, but then I notice that he's looking straight at Hodgins.

"Stop _what_, boy?" Hodgins slurs back, as if he doesn't know what Booth is talking about. _I _know what Booth is talking about.

"The drinking." I answer for him. "You have to stop drinking. Or at least getting drunk while we're in the arena." I look to Booth to make sure I'm not completely off-base with what he intended to say. After all, they could have had a spat I wasn't aware of, about something completely different.

But Booth nods and I know I was right. Then he goes on.

"We can't have you drunk off your ass while we're in there fighting for our lives and counting on _you_ to send us sponsor gifts that could possibly save us. You have to be there for us. Deal?" Booth levels his eyes at Hodgins, urging him silently to accept.

Hodgins, in return, sits back in his seat, squinting at Booth. "And just _what_, pray tell, do I get in return? A pin that says, 'World's Best Mentor,' on it? No thanks." He reaches for the bottle of whiskey, but I stab the table between his fingers before he can reach it, effectively stopping him.

Daisy hears the sound of my stab and turns around, looking utterly shocked. "THAT. IS. MAHOGANY!" she hisses, eyes wide and fierce like I've never seen before.

I ignore her and focus on answering Hodgins' question. "You get one of us," I say, "a District Twelve victor. Your first ever. Then one of us will be the mentor and you'll never have to deal with us, 'ungrateful brats', ever again."

He narrows his eyes at me, as if considering, and I can see that his blue eyes, nearly the same shade of my own, have cleared somewhat. He moves his hand out of the position I've trapped it in and grabs the knife, twirling it, clumsily, in his fingers, before placing it next to his plate, having come to a decision.

"Stand up," he orders, in his gruff, gravelly voice. Booth and I look at each other, unsure. "Stand up!" he orders, much more harshly.

Booth and I get to out feet and Hodgins motions for us to stand against the wall. We do as we're told and just stand there while our mentor looks us over, not touching, just looking...

"Hmm...you both look healthy. Healthier than I've seen in the last twenty years, anyway. But then again, your mother is a Baker, ain't she, Boy?"

"Booth." Booth corrects, firmly.

"Whatever." Hodgins says, brushing him off. "She's a Baker, ain't she? Your mom." Booth nods. "Well, thank goodness then, for that. You already have the advantage of being well-fed. At least half of the districts don't have that advantage. And you, girl, why do _you_ look so healthy? I know your mama ain't no baker, nor is she a butcher, and your daddy...well, he ain't around no more, is he?"

"Why are you talking like that?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

Hodgins shrugs. "Don't matter. Answer the question. Why do you look so healthy?"

I glare at him. He knows I can't answer this question. He knows exactly why I'm so healthy-looking, and the reason could have me put to death in an instant. He's testing me...making sure I won't give away any important information during the Games or now. "I trade my sister's goat's milk and cheese to the butcher, she gives me meat, and sometimes I catch squirrels and trade them to the baker, who trades me rolls in return. And my mother's medicine makes for good trade as well. All of that combined with the fact that my family only consists of three people means that I can afford to be well-fed." I hope none of what I just said could possibly get me in trouble.

Hodgins grins and I know I've given him the right explanation. "Very well then." he says. "Well, thank God for that then, right."

I want to tell him that I don't believe in God, that if there were one, he'd have stopped all this nonsense a long time ago, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing that Booth and his family are very religious. I'm not about to openly insult somebody I know could kill me, given the means and motivation.

So I just nod and keep my mouth shut.

Hodgins looks us over for a few more minutes, before nodding. "Okay," he says, "I'll do it." Booth and I stare blankly at him and he glares back. "What, are you two deaf? I said I'll do it. I'll stay sober. At least during the Games-"

"_And_ the interviews." Booth interjects. Hodgins' brows lift, incredulously. "Well, do you really think we'll get many sponsors if they see that our mentor is a perpetual drunk? I wouldn't sponsor us, would you?" he turns to me and I blush slightly, but nod.

"_Fine_." Hodgins grinds out. "Interviews and Games, but as soon as the two of you die, God _forbid_, I'm going back to my juice. Deal?"

"Deal." Booth and I say in unison.

We go back to our breakfast, Hodgins trading in the whiskey for some black coffee, and are silent for several moments.

Then Booth turns to look out the window and is pretty much shocked to see the Capitol in view. "Oh, wow...Hey! Look at that, huh? Isn't that amazing?" He gets up to press his face against the glass like a little boy looking into a candy shop. It's all I can manage not to laugh at his expression. We're fast-approaching the Capitol now and Booth starts waving to the people looking up at the train, all of them in strange fashions that make them look almost like Daisy-clones. I now see where she gets it from.

Booth gives them his 'charm smile' while I look out at them, my cheeks stuffed with bagel, which tastes amazing, by the way, just looking like a deer caught in the streetlights...or something along those lines. I can never remembering that saying, but it's utterly ridiculous how long it's gone on. I have seen a deer in over a year and never under a streetlight. I don't know how it could look the way most people describe it.

Hodgins gets up to come stand by the window, sipping from his mug as he looks out at all the strange-looking people. I notice his grip on his coffee is a bit tighter than it should be and his back is stiff, but he still paints on a smile as the people point and wave. He turns to me, fake smile still in place. "Sweetheart," he says, "I suggest you come over here, while you still can. Before all the good ones are taken by Bread Boy over here."

It doesn't take me a second to figure out what he means by that. Booth is on his way to getting sponsors already.

I might not even have a chance of winning before I even get into the arena.

**REVIEWS please!**


	7. Chapter 6

**I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update this but I've been SUPER busy with my play (we just got done with a FABULOUS sold-out [all THREE nights] production of Beauty and the Beast) and the late rehearsals and last-show sadness kept me from my inspiration (and sanity) too much to even THINK about my writing! But, here's a new chapter to make up for it! Enjoy!**

Chapter Six

"Hold still, Miss!" my torturer/leg waxer, a woman named Venia, who has aqua hair and gold tattoos on her eyebrows (ridiculous fashion sense if you ask me but it seems to be very popular around here), tells me for possibly the millionth time as she rips the strip of strange, waxy paper from my leg, leaving behind a searing pain that makes my leg jump and kick her in the side. She jumps and squeals...as if it's only the first time that has happened in the last hour.

For four hours now, I've been plucked, scrubbed, and had pieces of paper with some sort of sticky, syrupy concoction ripped off of me, pulling all the hair off my body. In fact, the only bit of hair left on my body is my eyebrows (barely) and my head, which was ordered by somebody named Gordon to leave alone. I've heard them talking about changing the color of my hair or my skin, like one of them, Octavia, who's lime green, has done to herself, but apparently Gordon had forbidden that too.

Thank goodness.

Flavius, a man whose hair is died orange and swirled on top of his head, looks me over after Venia has finished her work on my legs (as well as other, unmentionable and very awkward places) and concludes that I am finally ready for Gordon to work his magic on me.

Venia and Octavia nod and smile at each other, before turning to me.

"Oh, you're just going to _adore _Gordon! He's such a genius!" Venia gushes, bouncing slightly on her toes.

"Yes!" Octavia agrees, clapping her hands. "He'll have you looking like a little movie star in no time!"

I nod. The only 'movie stars' I've ever seen are the ones in the tribute video or the celebrity Games winners that appear on television every now and then for interviews and new updates. I've never seen a real, full-length movie, though there aren't very many movies nowadays, like back before the fall of the nation, even after 74 years. Movie stars are only born in the Capitol, which isn't even a fraction of the size of the smallest District, population-wise, and entertainers are possibly the lowest paid jobs in the capitol, besides the avoxes who make nothing. But they're glamorous and despite the fact that they get paid so low, they're paraded around the same as an old-nation movie star, and heralded just the same.

Looking like a movie star, here, is a great compliment. Looking like a movie star in my District is like an insult; it insinuates we're one of _them_.

I wonder what they'll think when this Gordon character gets through with me.

We sit there for another few minutes before a large man with shaggy, styled blonde hair and gold eye shadow walks in and Venia, Flavius, and Octavia suddenly go quiet as their eyes brighten at the sight of whom I assume is Gordon Wyatt, my head stylist, arrives. He smiles kindly at me and I smile back, awkwardly (did I mention that I am stark naked and there's a chill?), then he nods to his team and they each nod back in unison, before shuffling out.

Gordon turns back to me and sticks out his hand. "Gordon. Gordon Wyatt." He has a strange accent, like many of the people from the Capitol. It's very thick and has a strange tilt to it that I can't quite place. It's unlike Daisy's though, much more serious, yet his voice is warm and soft and it makes the corners of my mouth turn up.

"Nice to meet you." I respond. "My name is Temperance. Temperance Brennan."

Gordon smiles. "I know. I've heard of you and may I just say how admirable it is that you took the place of your little sister. She must be very grateful."

I nod. "She is." I don't know what else to say to that, so I just sit there, awkwardly, waiting for his praise to go on, like everybody else in the Capitol has done.

But it doesn't.

Instead, Gordon smiles and reaches for my braid, still intact, though slightly mussed from sleeping it in, hanging over my shoulder. "I like this," he says, "did you do it yourself?"

I shake my head and reach self-consciously for my braid. "No," I reply, "my mother did."

He smiles. "Are you two close?"

I scoff at this and look down, still stroking my braid. "Not exactly."

Gordon laughs. "I can relate." he pauses for a second, taking me in. "It looks like my team did pretty good work on you, Temperance. You know why I'm here, don't you?"

I nod. "You're here to make me look pretty." I say, softly, a bit of bitterness in my tone that surprises even me. This man has done nothing to me but be kind and compliment me. Why am I so bitter?

He doesn't seem to notice it, or if he does he doesn't show it. "No." He replies, firmly. "I'm here to help you make an impression. Sponsors, spectators, even the Gamemakers should be impressed by you and how you appear in front of a crowd, on a television screen. It will give you their support and increase your chances of winning this thing. Understood?"

I nod, because what else can I do? I have no choice.

I've not had a choice the entire time.

A thought occurs to me. "Hey, Gordon?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get stuck with District 12? We're not exactly the most..._glamorous_ to work with."

Gordon smiles softly at me. "No, you're not, are you? But you are the most remarkable I've ever seen, and that's saying _a lot_.Because I've seen some pretty remarkable things, but not as remarkable as what you gave up for your sister. So I volunteered, just like you, to help out District 12, and I intend to make you unforgettable, my dear...right after lunch."

I chuckled and smiled as a dining tray was wheeled in, with an ungodly amount of food on it. More than what was spread out for dinner last night. More than I've _ever_ seen before. Is this what life is like every day for those born in the Capitol? What is it like to have everything you wish for with the snap of your fingers, I'm curious to find out.

"Is this all for us?" I ask.

Gordon laughs and nods. "Yes. They want to make sure their tributes are well taken care of and well fed. It gets up your strength for...well, you know. Let's eat, then, shall we?"

I nod and immediately start filling my plate with delicious-looking food, so that it's almost overflowing by the time I'm ready to dig in.

As I eat, I begin to feel guilty. After all, just a few days ago I was living in a community that was lucky to have enough bread and water to get them through the day, let alone the exorbitant spread I'm practically inhaling now. I wonder for an instant if Angela has even had anything to eat today. That thought alone is enough to get me to push away my plate, though I'm still pretty hungry. Gordon notices this almost immediately and looks up at me, his eyes seem to be scanning my face.

"Thinking of your district, are you?" he asks, as if reading my mind.

I shake my head. "My sister."

He nods and wipes his mouth with his napkin. "I'm sure she's fine." he says. "From what I've heard, you have a friend that's promised to take care of her."

My eyes widen and my head snaps up. "Where have you heard that from?"

Gordon's eyes widen. "The boy tribute, Seeley is his name? He told my partner, Caroline, that his mother promised to bring her bread as often as possible. Why? Is that a problem?"

My heart rate goes back to normal even as my thoughts begin to race. Seeley's mother? Bringing Angela food? But why? I may just end up killing her son? Does she really care _that much _about my family's well-being. Well, she is a very good person. But, still...

"Sh-she _is_?" I ask, not able to find anything else to say.

Gordon nods. "Yes, that's what I've heard. Unless you've heard differently?" I shake my head. "Well, then, I guess that's it. Shall we get back to lunch?"

I nod, and continue my lunch, picking at my food now, because my thoughts are still on Angela and the Baker and Sully and I'm wondering how they're all coping. I don't even spare a thought on my mother.

When we're through with lunch, Gordon looks me over for the umpteenth time. "So, Temperance, I've been thinking about what to do for your chariot costume..."

The chariots are what we wear in the opening parade for the Hunger Games, where all the tributes are introduced to adoring fans and to the President himself, President Hacker, who shows up just to announce us and give us an encouraging speech. Each tribute is to dress up in clothes that represent their district. District 12 is a mining district, so we're traditionally dressed as miners. I say this much to Gordon, but he shakes his head.

"No, not miners." he says. "This year, I want to do something different. This year you will be remembered as the girl on fire."

I really don't like the sound of that.

**REVIEW!**


	8. Chapter 7

**I'm back! Sorry it's taken so long to update but there's yet ANOTHER problem with my computer that I can't figure out! Sigh, I don't know what I'm gonna do, but enough about that. I'm here now and that's all that matters. Anyways, enjoy!**

Chapter Seven

Okay, this place is _huge_. I've never imagined standing in a room that could house all of District 12 before. And we're not even in the stadium yet! This is just the prep area. I shudder to think of how large it will be...

"Brennan!" a voice shakes me from my thoughts and I turn to see Seeley Booth coming towards me, his hand raised in greeting, a slight smile on his face. He's wearing the same costumes as me, a black, shiny suit, meant to look like coal, I assume. But, unlike mine, his hair is far to short to be braided and twirled into a bun on top of his head, but the usually spikiness is gone, replaced by thick, gelled back brown hair on top of his head. There's probably enough gel to fashion into a candle on his head.

That thought makes me shudder as Gordon Wyatt's words from before enter my mind; "I want them to remember you as the girl on fire."

I still have no idea what he meant by that and I'm not too keen on finding out.

"You okay?" I'm once again brought out of my reverie by Booth's voice, now sounding far more concerned than before. I blink rapidly, shake my head, and look at him, confused.

"Of course I am," I respond, nonchalantly, "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugs and looks around the vast room, studying the others' costumes with a raised brow. I look with him, trying to calm myself and push Gordon's words out of my mind.

District 1, two blondes named Hannah and Wendell, though not related in the least, are dressed in jeweled clothing, the boy in what looks like a bejeweled tux and the girl dressed in a shimmering ballgown. Their hair glitters under the overhead light, fashioned much like ours, plus glitter.

To me, they look ridiculous, but One specializes in luxury items so it makes sense.

They catch me staring at them and I quickly avert my eyes the same way Booth has, looking over at the tributes from District 11, dressed as farmers. The boy tribute is a boy I now know is named Clark. His skin is dark brown and he looks to be about 18. I remember watching the recap of the reaping. He is the middle child, like Booth, and his mother collapsed as soon as his name was called. She pleaded with those around her to volunteer for him, but nobody did. The man comforting her is assumed to have been her brother, as Clark's father died a few years ago in a work-related accident. Like mine. I shake this thought from my head. Thoughts like that won't help me in the arena.

Clark and the girl tribute, whose name I don't yet know, are laughing about something and he reaches over to playfully tickle her and she giggles like a little girl, which she pretty much is. She's the smallest of all of us, at the very least.

"Her name's Michelle." Booth whispers in my ear, making me shiver at the sudden warmth of his breath near my ear.

I turn to him. "Michelle?" He nods.

"She's the youngest," he informs me. "Just turned twelve last month. I think she has a bunch of younger siblings."

I nod. "Five." I'd noticed them during the Reaping. She had five younger siblings, three sisters and two brothers. She was the oldest in her family.

Booth nods. "Poor kid." His voice is sympathetic, as if it's set in stone that she will die.

"She might make it." I say, though the words sound weak falling off my lips. "It's happened before and she looks pretty strong. If not strong, then she may at least be agile."

"Maybe." Booth says, unconvincingly.

There are no more words between us as we watch the small girl goof about with the large boy, both smiling and seemingly in good spirits despite where we'll all be in less than a week. I hope he doesn't turn on her like I might have to do to Booth.

"Temperance!" I turn to see Gordon Wyatt approaching me, a string of what looks to be shredded pieces of red and yellow cloth in his hands. His partner, Caroline, Booth's stylist, walks next to him, carrying something similar.

I smile at him, genuinely happy to see a familiar, albeit nerve-wrecking features of my stylist. I still wonder about the girl on fire thing.

"Hi, Gordon." I greet. He comes up an kisses me on the cheek, then turns to Booth.

"You must be Seeley Booth." he says, warmly. "I've heard good things, young man."

Booth smiles that charming smile at him. "It's nice to meet you, Mr..."

"Wyatt. Gordon Wyatt. But, please, just call me Gordon. I believe you've met Caroline, already." He smiles at the slightly overweight woman next to him, who smiles lovingly at Booth.

"Well, of course I have, Gordon!" she exclaims, reaching out and pinching Booth's left cheek. "I'm the one that dressed him. Aren't I, cherie?"

Booth blushes slightly, but his smile doesn't falter, though it becomes a bit softer at her affections. "Yes, Ma'am." he says politely.

Caroline immediately releases his cheek as her hands go to her hips and she scowls at him. "Now, what did I tell you about all this Ma'am nonsense? My name is _Caroline._ Not 'Ma'am'! You got that? Ma'am!" She huffs, turning towards Gordon. "As if I were an old woman or something!"

Gordon Wyatt nods sympathetically but I can see him biting the inside of his cheek as if he's trying very hard not to laugh. He sets a soothing hand on her shoulder, which Caroline shrugs off at once and turns to me.

She smiles politely at me and lends me her hand. "Why, hello there!" she says, all her anger from Booth's 'Ma'am' slip gone from her. "I believe we have yet to be introduced." She pauses a moment, then elbows Gordon in the side, smile still in place as she orders, through her teeth, "Introduce us."

"Wha-oh! Oh, yes. Temperance, this is Caroline Julian, my partner. You may have heard of her?" The look he's giving me and the tone of voice suggests that the right answer to this question is yes, whether I have heard of her or not.

I smile at her and nod. "Oh, yes, of course!" I say. "I've heard wonderful things from both Gordon and Bo-Seeley. It's very nice to meet you, Caroline." I emphasize her name and send Booth a slight teasing look. He sticks his tongue out at me like a petulant child. I smile and turn my attention back to Caroline, who's smiling and looking between us, but saying nothing.

Gordon does the same, but stops looking when I catch his eye and, instead, clears his throat. "Ahem, so shall we get started then? Caroline and I have one more addition to your costumes." He and Caroline hold up the strings of ripped fabric with smiles on their faces, not saying anything to explain what they are to our costumes.

"Uh...what are they?" Booth asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.

"They're capes, cherie!" Caroline says, as if it's obvious. But it's what she says next that _really _gets my attention. "You and Miss Brennan over here are going to wear them in the parade, while they're on fire."

Mine and Booth's eyes widen in astonishment and fear as we glance at each other, nervously.

"F-fire?" I stutter.

Caroline nods. "Mm-hmm, cherie. In flames. But don't worry; y'all won't even feel a thing."

Booth raises an eyebrow at her. "How is that possible," he asks, "if we're lit on fire?"

"Oh, they're not real flames." Gordon assures him. "They're synthetic flames Caroline and I have produced ourselves. They should be harmless and the suits should protect you from being burned."

"_Should_?" I ask, still not quite believing it.

"Well, we haven't had very long to test it out, you see. We've only just come up with the idea a couple of days ago. But I'm certain it will work, and, like I said, the suits are entirely fire-proof. There's nothing to fear."

"But what about our hair?" Booth asks. "Temperance's is long, even in the bun, the fire will surely be able to reach it, and my hair is filled with so much product, I'd be surprised if I didn't burst into flame standing next to a lit match."

I chuckle a little at the mental image and he sends a sideways grin at me.

Caroline rolls her eyes. "Oh, hush now, you two. You're gonna be fine. Now shut up and hold still while we tie these around your necks." We do as we're told, catching each other's eyes as they fashion the capes onto our backs.

I thought it impossible before, but it seems that this whole thing just got a bit more...interesting.

Or frightening.

Perhaps, a little of both.

**REVIEW!**


	9. Chapter 8

**I'm back, babies! I just got my laptop back and it's better than ever! I now have Microsoft Word instead of Open Office thanks to a very awesome guy who fixed my computer and though it's hot as Hell here in New York, I'm sitting in a room with a temperature of 68 degrees (BTW, happy Summer, everybody! Hope y'all are staying cool). So, without further ado, let's get on with this! Enjoy!**

Chapter Eight

As soon as the capes are tied around our necks, it seems, they're calling for each and every pair of tributes to board their chariots. Ours is bright orange this year and is being pulled by two, majestic, black stallions with bronze bridals that have the District 12 Emblem on them. They're being fed oats and having their coats shined by a man I assume is their breeder. He seems to be whispering sweet nothings in their ears.

I wonder, momentarily, if all the people in the Capitol are as strange as the few I've seen today.

Booth is the first to climb onto the chariot, then he turns to lend me his own hand. I take it, tentatively and begin my ascent (these chariots seem to be built for giants, and now sixteen-year-old girls with a bit of a height handicap) up the two narrow steps until I am standing next to him, looking straight ahead of me to District 11's chariot, painted white with their own pair of brown stallions. The little girl, Michelle, turns her head slightly to glance at us. I wave and she blushes slightly and looks away.

I feel silly for waving, and I attempt to make it seem as if I were just reaching up to brush a piece of hair behind my ear, even though there's nothing to brush back. Booth notices my awkward move, but doesn't say anything, just grins sideways at me. I stick my tongue out at him, quickly, so Caroline and Gordon don't notice.

From the corner of my eye I see Caroline step up behind Booth with something in her hand. I turn a bit more and see Gordon standing beside her, holding the exact same thing; lit torches.

"Now, don't be frightened, Temperance. It's merely synthetic fire. Shouldn't harm you in the least. In fact, it will most likely tickle your ears if it even reaches that high. But, you'll be safe." Gordon assures me.

"Same goes for you, cher," Caroline says to Booth, who's looking just as nervous as I'm feeling, "this fire is made to be safe around flesh and hair and whatnot. It wouldn't even harm a fly. But, just in case, y'all better make a plan of emergency."

My eyes widen in near panic and I feel Booth's large hand encase mine. I look up, startled by his touch, into those deep brown eyes. "I'll remove yours if you remove mine. Deal?"

I nod, but am unable to speak as my heart rate still has not gone down. Booth squeezes my hand in what I suppose is meant to be comfort, but I'm not comforted by it. I am, in fact, even more petrified by it.

What is he trying to do? Make me lower my defenses? Maybe he thinks that if he treats me like a friend, like he actually likes me, I'll be more likely to trust him and it'll be easier to kill me that way.

At this thought, I pull my hand out of his grasp and refuse to look at him, but I can see his slightly shocked expression out of the corner of my eye. I ignore it though, as I hear the announcer call out that we only have sixty seconds to board our chariots before the parade is to begin and I feel a slight vibration coming from my cape.

I guess Gordon and Caroline just lit us on fire. Just a few seconds before we leave, I see Hodgins stagger on over, smiling at us.

He's drunk. Again.

"Smile, Sweetheart!" he says to me. "And hold hands, you guys!" he stage whispers at us. "It'll give you both an edge. And I think we _both _know you need one." He's looking straight into my eyes as he says this. I scowl at him and nearly wince as Booth takes my hand once more, and I could swear his thumb is rubbing softly over mine, but I don't dare look at him or our conjoined hand, just at Hodgins's smug face.

I continue looking-_glaring_-at our mentor even as the horses are ordered to go and Booth and I are pulled out, burning capes and all, into the arena filled with spectators.

Of course, we're stopped every few seconds as each of the Districts is revealed and introduced to the crowds; I can hear the cheers grow louder with each favorite district, and I can discern a few boos among them, but then our District is called out and Booth and I are released, and everything goes silent as we join the parade.

All that can be heard is the voice of the announcer.

"And, of course, here are the famous tributes from District Twelve, the coal-mining district. Temperance Brennan, the young woman who volunteered herself as tribute in place of her younger sister, Angela, and young Seeley Booth, who just last year placed _Second_ in his community wrestling competition, only losing to his own brother! A very promising pair of tributes, and from an outlying District, no less! Oh! And it seems…well, they seem to be on fire, literally! Would you look at that! Ladies and Gentlemen, give them a round of applause!" And it's like he turned off the volume on the TV, as every single person in the arena begins to clap and cheer wildly, almost animalistic, waving at us and smiling, calling out our names. I glance at Booth and see that he's waving back, so I follow his example, which seems to make them cheer louder, if that's possible. I smile at them as I wave and suddenly I feel my other hand raise and turn to see that Booth has raised out joined hands, which makes the crowd erupt into _even more_ deafening applause. I look, wide-eyed, at all the people going wild over me, over us; two simple kids from District Twelve that nobody in this entire city would have even looked at twice, had we not been tributes in their sick Games.

But, even as it sickens me to my very core, it also seems to excite me and I begin to wave harder and smile wider than I ever have before, I even begin to laugh as the announcer goes on to describe who we are and where we're from, and then what our odds are. Then he calls me the one name that I know Gordon will be proud of, but I feel degrades me as a human being.

"There she goes!" he says, "The _Girl on FIRE_!"

Every single person gets to their feet at this new nickname and begins to chant it at me as we approach the end of the parade, and stop between District 10 and 11 in a sort of circle like structure. We're facing a large podium with an even larger screen behind it, on which I can clearly see the President, Andrew Hacker.

He's a large, broad-shouldered man, with dark brown hair, which is graying a bit on the sides, and cold brown eyes. His face is clean-shaven though. He smiles coldly at us, and it's then that I realize that the fire has begun to fizz out and it won't be long until nothing is left of it but smoke.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen," he greets, his voice booming and echoing around the arena. "And welcome to the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games! By the looks of it, we seem to have a very promising group of tributes this year! This will most certainly be one for the history books, eh?" He laughs, and it, too, booms around the arena. "So, without further ado, good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

With that, he gives a single, grand wave, a dismissal I realize as all the horses begin towards the exit, and turns away from us, not even bothering to say anything more to us or so much as glance at us again.

My last thoughts of him before he disappears from my sight is, _What an ass._

**Which were also MY exact thoughts when I first saw him on the show, but I do love the actor. Sorry this story is dragging on but, like I said before, my luck with updating has been pretty crappy. I'll try to get it going though, now that I have it back. Anyways, please REVIEW! (THAT should give me some incentive!)**


	10. Chapter 9

**Hello, all! Since I don't have anything to do in the next few hours until my graduation rehearsal (!), I will be updating, while simultaneously beating the New York Summer Heat Wave we are currently experiencing. Anyways, enjoy!**

Chapter Nine

As Booth and I are pulled back into the small-well, _smaller_- part of the arena, we are greeted with open arms by our stylists and their teams, who all congratulate us on being a hit in the parade and possibly the most exciting pair of tributes to come in years. We thank them all awkwardly as Caroline and Gordon remove our singed capes, checking us and our clothing and hair over for any burns, but thankfully finding none.

Then Gordon steps in front of me and smiles down at me. "How did it feel?" he asks, with a slightly grim smile.

I sigh. "It felt like I was just a new accessory that all of them wanted to have, or like I was some sort of prized show dog, only there to entertain them. I didn't even feel human out there."

Gordon furrows her brow. "I understand," he says, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but at least now you have-"

He doesn't finish his sentence as Caroline nudges him and motions towards the boy tribute from Two, a brunette boy with dark brown hair and a too-easy smile, almost creepy. He's smiling at us and looking sideways at his girl counterpart, a girl with dark skin, much like Michelle's, but something tells me they're nothing alike. She smiles too, a competitive glow in her eyes.

Caroline then motions to the tributes from One, the District that's used to all the attention since they're as close to the Capitol as you could get. They're glaring at us from where they stand, not happy that we stole all their fame. The girl, Hannah, shoots daggers at me with her eyes, and the boy seems to be doing the same to Booth, who I can see is not the least bit fazed by it, if his stony expression is anything to go by.

"Oh Seeley! Temperance!" a shrill voice shrieks from behind us, and we both jump and turn in time to see Daisy Wick approaching in what must be six-inch heels (really, it surprises me that she is not parallel to the ground by now) and a poufy shouldered, hot pink dress with a large skirt. Today her wig is a bright orange, and all her make up matches it. She approaches us and immediately throws her arms around us, squeezing us as tight as she can, though I suspect she is also trying to keep her balance. "You two were _amazing _out there! Simply spectacular!" She pulls back to look at us, and even with the heels she is not as tall as either one of us. "I'm so proud of you both!" she exclaims, and something in the way she's looking at us makes me feel as if her sentiment is genuine.

I'm about to reply to it when she immediately let's go and turns towards Gordon and Caroline. "Wonderful job, you two!" she praises. "Where did you get the little synthetic fire bit?"

"What synthetic fire?" Caroline asks, "That was completely genuine. Wasn't it?" she turns to Gordon and he smiles at her.

"Why, yes!" he says, smiling at Daisy, "_Completely _genuine. No use for anything less. Right, Temperance? Seeley?"

I don't catch on right away, but Booth nods, pointedly so I do, too, smiling when he smiles. I realize, belatedly, that they're just trying to excite Daisy even further. But not in a good way.

Daisy pales and opens her mouth to say something when Hodgins comes up and interrupts. "What's everybody doing?" he asks, "Come on! All the other tributes are already heading to the elevator. You're going to be on line until the Games actually begin. Let's go!"

At this, Daisy brightens. "Oh yes!" she says, turning to look straight at us, "I have a surprise for you both! Come on now!" She takes our hands and begins pulling us in the direction of what I assume is the exit. Booth and I each glance at each other over her head and when he smiles at me, I ignore the flutter in the pit of my stomach and turn my head forward, trying to focus on Daisy's "surprise".

By the time we make it to the elevator, what with Daisy stopping every now and then to regain her balance, Districts Eight through Eleven are still waiting for their turn.

The elevator is like nothing I've ever seen before. Not that I've never seen one before, because I have. They use one in the mines. I've used it twice on school trips. But after my father died down there, I refused. Sully has, too. We spent those days off of school hunting in the woods and selling the goods to Greasy Sae and the Baker.

But now, now I'm reminded of the heart-gripping fear I felt as I waited for my father to come up from the mines, and the heart-crushing realization that he never would again. Though these elevators are much different from the one in District 12. These elevators (there's two of them) are silver and shiny, made of some unfamiliar metal. Silver maybe? Iron? The one in District 12 is made of iron, too, but years of wear and tear have made it rusty and unsteady on its cables.

The elevator we board, I soon find, is very graceful in its ascent to our floor. I can barely feel it as we are lifted higher and higher and when it stops, all it gives is a tiny hiccup of motion, as opposed to the large rattle and groan of metal the mine elevator gives.

Then the door opens and my breath is taken right out of my lungs.

Daisy smiles. "Welcome," she says, brightly, "to your Penthouse."

**REVIEWS!**


	11. Chapter 10

**New chapter! Enjoy!**

Chapter Ten

I've never seen anything like this!

I've never _heard_ of anything like this! Okay, that's not true. I have, in fact, heard of a Penthouse. The Justice Building in Twelve has one for Capitol guests to stay in when visiting on official business (like the Reaping), and I've heard that nearly every single building in the Capitol has one and you don't even have to be overly wealthy to have one. In fact, here they're pretty much a starting point.

But this…I can't _believe_ this! This room I'm standing in (I'm told it's just a foyer, not really a room at all) is bigger than the first floor of my small house back in District Twelve. And as Daisy leads us throughout the large "apartment", I'm taken aback by the size of the actual rooms and at how many there actually are.

First, just off the foyer, is a sitting room, with a couch the size of my bed, two easy chairs, like the ones at the Justice Building, plush carpeting that feels nice and softer than grass under my toes (Daisy refuses to let us wear shoes in here), a cherrywood "coffee" table, fluorescent lights encased in the ceiling, and a television that covers more than half the wall. Then we make our way across the hall to the dining area, where Daisy explains to us that food is delivered any time we want it; all we have to do is pick up the phone (another object I have never before seen in my life) and dial 12, then our own personal cooking staff will answer and ask our order. They deliver 24/7 and next to the phone is a menu of every type of food available to us (most of which I've never even heard of but I make a mental note to try while I'm here.)

After the dining area, Daisy shows us to our rooms (Booth and my room are right next to each other this time, while Gordon's is across from mine and Caroline's is next to it. Daisy and Hodgins have rooms across from each other at the end of the hall.) My room is much like the one I had on the train; full-sized bed with a plush mattress and soft, cotton sheets, soft carpet, like the sitting room, a large dresser with casual and combat clothing for practice, and my own bathroom, with a setup just like my train suite.

The only thing different about my room this time is the large glass window overlooking the Capitol. The window is the fourth wall of my room, and I remember seeing something like it when we were in the dining area, which is right next door to my bedroom. I assume everybody on this side of the apartment has a window just like it.

This is the last stop of the tour for me, so Daisy and the rest of them leave me to change for supper as they all retreat to their own rooms. The door, which is electric and responds to voice command, closes when I tell it to…

And then I crumple to the floor, unable to stop the flow of tears any longer.

My chest is heaving and my eyes feel like a waterfall, the flow of my tears unable to be stemmed unable I am all cried out and lying on the floor, breathing heavily and staring out my large, clear wall.

I take a few minutes to just stay like that before I stand and strip myself of all clothing, practically shredding my hair as I took it all down as fast and recklessly as I could and made my way to the bathroom, gratefully stepping into the shower and turning on the hottest water it would allow (the showers are designed so that we cannot burn ourselves with the water, nor can we freeze ourselves. It can only be the perfect temperature in order to relax our bodies.) Unlike the shower on the train, I only use one type of shampoo and one body oil to wash up before I'm out again and am drying up. There is a bar that dries and straightens my hair, just like on the train, and I touch it, reveling in the tingling sensation it sends down my spine, before I move back to the main room, to pick out my clothes.

I open the first drawer in the dresser and pick out the first shirt and pair of jeans I see, not even bothering with socks (almost not bothering with underwear, but I reconsider this) and dress, before sitting down on my bed, which is softer than the previous one, and staring blankly out the window.

The sun is just setting and is casting a beautiful pinkish purple glow over the horizon, outlined by hundreds of majestic buildings and landscapes that you couldn't find in District Twelve, no matter how hard you try.

I wince at the thought of home, of Angela and Sully, and even of Mother. I wonder what they're all up to, if they're experiencing the same beautiful sunset. I look to my nightstand and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the sight of a small remote. We have one in my house in District Twelve, but it only has two buttons; a Power button and a "Mute" Button.

The one I'm looking at now must have at least a dozen. All different shapes and colors, and in the center is a large button, much like the Power button at home. I reach over and tentatively pick it up, before looking around my room for what it must go to, but there's not a single television in this room, not that I thought there'd be, since we have such a huge one in the sitting room, but what else does a remote control go to?

In order to find out, I turn to the front wall, by my door, and click the middle button.

And nothing changes.

But it's then that I notice something flickering in the corner of my right eye, and I turn my head towards it, my jaw dropping at the sight before me.

It's District Twelve, or more accurately, the woods surrounding my district. I stand immediately and walk, as if in a daze, towards the large glass window, which I guess must have some sort of hologram in it meant to keep me entertained when needed.

I can't exactly seen anything that might give me any sort of clue as to which direction Twelve is in, but I recognize a group of trees Sully and I have frequented enough times to know by heart. They even have the familiar scratch marks left by chipmunks and the other small animals that live amongst them.

I reach out my hand to touch one of the closer trees, but then I realize how ridiculous I'm being and press the center button on the remote and the scene of my woods goes away to reveal a much darker Capitol horizon. The sun must've went down while I was in my daze.

I shake my head and take a deep breath as there's a knock at my door.

"Brennan?" Booth's voice floats through the air, tentatively. "They're serving dinner now, if you're hungry." He informs me.

"Um, yeah!" I call back, a bit too loudly. I clear my throat. "Sure. I'll be right out."

He doesn't respond so I assume that means he left. I place the remote controller back on my end table and run back into the bathroom to check my reflection and make sure that my eyes are not red nor puffy due to my breakdown before. When I see that they're not, I turn off the lights and make my way out of my room, taking a deep breath before I order the door, "Open."

I'm only slightly taken aback when it obeys me.

**Okay, so for those of you who have been asking about one of my oneshots from "A Moment in Time", called **_**Different Worlds**_**, and when it would become its own story, I'm here to tell you I am actually planning on it, but not as a Fan Fiction, but as an original fiction on the site, . My name on that site is Cassie Bones and I will be posting the first chapter most likely tomorrow. Anybody who is interested in reading it can go to that site to see it and PLEASE leave reviews for it so I know that I'm doing something right there (Also I have two other stories running on that site that I'd love you guys to read!) Anywho, getting back to this story, I would also love for you to review it so I know everything I'm doing is right and okay. So, please, REVIEW!**


	12. Chapter 11

**Update!**

Chapter Eleven

They're all sitting quietly at the dinner table, all staring at the food on their plates as if studying it, each pea and grain of wild rice. They don't see me approach the table until Booth glances up to take a sip of the bright red liquid in his cup. When he notices me, he smiles and clears his throat, alerting the others to my presence.

Daisy's eyes widen and she smiles up at me. "Oh, there you are!" she exclaims, "I thought you'd never come out of there! Sit! Sit!"

I take a seat across from Booth, who's now sitting straight up and looking directly at me. I divert my gaze to Hodgins, who looks to be on his third glass of wine. Or fourth. Unless that bottle on front of him is his second. It's hard to tell since he's looked like this for about as long as I've known him.

He catches me staring at him and scowls at me. "What choo lookin at?" he slurs at me.

I shake my head at him and turn back to my plate. Since I was the last one at the table, everybody begins to dig in to their food. As we eat, a redheaded girl, about my age, leans over me and pours some sort of red liquid-which I assume is what Booth is drinking-into my glass. I turn to thank her and am taken aback by how familiar she looks, but I know she's not from Twelve…

But, if that's true, where could I have possibly seen her before? Perhaps she was in one of the Reaping videos? But then why would she be here? Was she here when we first came in? No, I'm sure of it.

It couldn't very well hurt to ask, could it? "Excuse me?" I say, louder than intended. She doesn't look at me, though everybody else at the table does. I clear my throat and ignore them. "Miss?" I address her again. "Excuse me?" This time she looks at me, looking slightly like a deer caught in the headlights, but says nothing, nor gives any indication that _she_ recognizes _me_. I continue anyway. "Do I know you from somewhere?" She squints at me for a moment, before turning visibly red and shaking her head vigorously, and turning on her heels to walk out, not bothering to say a word.

I turn back to my plate, only to be shocked by the many eyes on me. Everybody at the table is looking at me, even Booth and boozy Hodgins, who looks a bit green, but not from the wine he's consumed.

"What on _Earth_ possessed you to do that?" Daisy asks me.

"Do what?" I ask, nonchalantly, taking a sip of the red liquid in my cup. The taste is pungent, but familiar; Wine-I am only allowed it on special occasions.

"Talk to that _avox_." She practically spits the last word at me.

"What's an avox?" Booth asks before I get the chance to.

Daisy narrows her eyes at him, not as if she's angry or annoyed at him, but more like she smells something bad. "An avox is someone who's broken the law. But not just any law, one of the unforgivables; treason. When treason is committed by anyone, they become an avox and have their tongues cut out. Then they are forced to work the rest of their lives in the Capitol as punishment. It's less than they deserve, after such a heinous crime." She smugly takes a sip of her wine and I stay quiet, trying to analyze this.

She may be from District Twelve, after all…but wouldn't I have heard about someone breaking such a horrible law if she were? We've never had anybody-not in my lifetime anyway-who's committed such a horrible crime that they're needed their tongues cut out. They've never even taught us this in school.

"I could swear I've seen her before…" I mumble aloud, apparently loud enough for everybody to hear, since they're now all staring at me once more.

Daisy stares wide-eyed at me, as do Gordon and Caroline. Hodgins visibly pales to the shade of a ghost now. Booth seems the only person in this room capable of speech, because he speaks first.

"Delly!" Booth exclaims. I jump slightly at look at him, questioningly. "Delly Cartwright." He says, as if that makes any more sense. "You know Delly. She's in our class back in District Twelve. That girl…she's like a dead ringer for Delly. Don't you think?" He gives me a look that tells me it would be very stupid of me to argue with his logic, even though the redheaded girl looks _nothing_ like fair-skinned, blonde-haired Delly Cartwright. But I nod anyway.

"Yes, of course," I say, a little airily, "that's who I must have been thinking of. My mistake." I take another sip of the wine, which is beginning to make me feel light-headed.

"Well, whoever she is," Daisy says, sternly, "she is not to be spoken to, except when giving an order. No avox is to communicate or be communicated to by a non-avox. We mustn't encourage them. Understood?"

Booth and I nod, solemnly, before returning to our meals. We share a secret look over our dishes where I thank him and he sends me a small heart-stopping grin over his chicken.

I sneak a glance over to Hodgins, who seems to have regained his color and is now snoozing in a drunk slumber, laying back in his chair. I smirk at him and push my own glass of wine away, opting instead for the water.

Later, when I'm sitting on my bed, in my room, in a pair of soft cotton pajamas, playing with my window remote, there's a knock at my door.

"Enter." I command so the door will open. When it does, I am surprised to see the redhead standing there, looking very nervous. She's holding a laundry bag and raising her brows, questioningly. I nod and she begins to pick up my discarded clothing, not sparing me one glance as she does so. When she picks up my shirt, she pauses, but only for a moment, before dropping it into the bag.

As she does this, I study her, trying to remember where I've seen her, and then it hits me…

And the reality of the situation causes more pain in my chest than I've felt throughout this whole experience.

Because now I have one more reason to fear for my life.

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	13. Chapter 12

**Update! **

Chapter Twelve

_We are hunting, like every other day, stalking our prey. The pickings have been pretty slim lately and most days this week we've returned home with nothing more than a single squirrel to show for it._

_Today is no better, so far. Sully and I don't even have the _luxury_ of a squirrel today. I load my arrow into the bow as I see a bird perched on a nearby branch, but before I am able to let it fly, the bird becomes alert and quickly flies off. _

_I lower my bow and arrow with a sigh. "Perfect." I grumble._

_Sully laughs beside me. "Well, what do you expect, Temper?" he says, "You think they're just gonna just wait for your arrow to pierce their hearts? Like it's such a privilege to be shot by the one and only-"_

_Suddenly, Sully's eyes widen and he turns his head towards the left, a slight breeze causing his dark hair to ruffle. I wonder, fleetingly, if he hears something, like maybe a deer or a rabbit, though both are unlikely._

_But Sully has always had dog-like hearing. Without saying anything, I send him a questioning look and he holds up a finger, before grabbing my hands and running through a thicket of bushes with me. His tight grip on my hand has me rethinking any impulse to ask him what's going on. I allow him to pull me through the bushes until we're suddenly crouching in one, looking straight out into a clearing…_

"_What are we-"_

"_Shh!" Sully hisses, putting his hand over my mouth. I don't think twice before biting it. "Ah!" he growls, and then sends me a look. I scowl back at him and he rolls his eyes._

_Then our attention is drawn back to the clearing, where the bushes on the other side, nearly thirty meters away, begin to rustle. I reach for my bow, but Sully's hand on my arm stops me. I look at him and he shakes his head slowly, before we both turn our attention back to the clearing, just as a boy with shaggy, unkempt blonde hair, and girl, with short, curly red hair, around our age, emerge, looking around with wild, panicked eyes._

_The boy motions for the girl to hide and slowly creeps further out into the clearing, looking around cautiously as he does. When everything seems clear, he turns to motion her out of the bush, but just as soon as his hand goes out to beckon for her, there is a whirring above us that's deafening and creates a massive wind tunnel around us. The girl shouts at him as she steps out and he tries to push her back into the bushes, but it's too late, because the hovercraft that appears in the sky just above the trees, has seen them._

_The boy pushes the girl, screaming for her to run and she does, turning back just in time to see a spear piercing the boy's midsection. She screams for him and begins running back, but Sully's voice stops her and she looks over at us, crouched in the bushes, her eyes wide in fright, pleading with us to help her, but giving the hovercraft no other indication that we are there. Then, suddenly, there is a bright light on her and she seems paralyzed completely as a tube is lowered over her body and she is pulled up, higher and higher, until she disappears into the hovercraft. _

_Then the hovercraft moves once again, casting a wind tunnel over its entire path. Sully and I stay crouching there for nearly half an hour after it's gone before he deems it safe to move._

_By that time my legs are devoid of all feeling and I fall back on my ass, waiting for the blood to begin flowing, while Sully sits beside me, a pained expression on his face. I can just tell he's thinking about that couple._

_Truth is, I am too._

_We could have helped those kids. We could have gotten to them before the hovercraft did. They could still be alive and well, if we had just-_

"Brennan!"

Booth's voice enters my subconscious as I come back into the real world, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Brennan, are you awake?" he asks, through the door.

"Yeah!" I call back. "I'm-I'm awake!"

"Okay, well, get ready then! We have training today…put on your uniform," He informs me.

I look over at my dresser, my eyes widening at the black and red uniform folded on top of it. The Avox girl must've-

My eyes widen. How could she get in here? This room is voice-activated, and even if she could speak…could she get through the system in the middle of the night? Could she possibly get revenge for…?

I don't finish this thought as the Avox girl enters my room as casually as if it were hers and not mine. She's holding a notepad, which she hands me, shyly avoiding eye contact.

I read it immediately:

"I'm here to help you prepare for your training."

I look up at her, but she refuses to make eye contact still.

I clear my throat. "Do you remember me?" I ask, surprising even myself with my words. I did not plan on asking her that.

She looks up at me now, wide-eyed. I can see now that she's blushing. I repeat my question and she holds her hand out, shaking, for the notepad.

I hand it to her and she uses a pen I didn't see before to scribble something down on it. I take the notepad back when she offers it.

"Yes," is all that is written down on it.

I can feel my heart rate pick up with that one, three-letter word. I look up at her, my eyes now wide with fright. "I-I'm so sorry," I say, quickly, "I-I wanted to help but-"

She shakes her head. She points to me, then to her tongue and I understand perfectly; the same thing would have happened to me had I stepped out of hiding to save her. Or worse.

"I'm still very sorry," I say, "I hope you can forgive me…"

She nods and takes my hand, squeezing it. Then she gives me an awkward smile, still nodding.

I smile back the best I can, but I still feel guilty.

I wonder if that feeling will ever stop.

**REVIEWS!**

**I have a new blog on Tumblr called CassieBfiction if anybody wants to check it out and follow it. This story is on it and I'm going to start adding others to it, possibly originals that I might not post here. I hope you guys check it out!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Training TIME! Sorry it's taken me so long to update but I'm really lacking in self-discipline lately…everytime I start to write, I just call it crap and stop. Idk what's wrong with me but I'm trying hard for you guys. So, without further ado…enjoy!**

Chapter Thirteen

"Welcome, tributes, to your first day of training!" A slightly over-enthusiastic, yet obviously sarcastic woman greets us all as we gather around her. "For the next few days you will be trying your hand at all the different weaponry we have to offer, as well as a few survival stations where our specialized trainers will instruct you on how to set traps, build fires, and other survival skills which will aid you in the arena just as much as any weaponry you may find. Now, if there are no more questions..." she looks around, searching our faces for inquiry, but nobody comes out with anything, "Alright then. You may begin. But, remember! No fighting or you will be sent back to your rooms. There will be plenty of time for that in the arena." She smiles at us as if she's just made some sort of hilarious joke before making her way out of the room, past a couple of muscular men guarding the door with their own firearms.

Booth, who's standing next to me, looks at me with one eyebrow raised and a crooked smile. I roll my eyes and smile back, before making my way over to the snare and trap station, where a middle-aged man stands, obviously not expecting anybody to come to him, if his surprised and over-eager smile is any indication.

He practically trips over himself to show us the best way to set a trap or snare, whether it's to catch prey or predator is uncertain, but neither Booth nor I question it and soon we are masterfully setting up our own traps. When we're done at that station, we head over to the fire-making station, in which the instructor shows us which plants and resources make the best fires and which ones should be avoided due to the overbearing and revealing amount of smoke they generate.

As he shows us this, I can see, out of the corner of my eye, the girl tributes from one and two, Hannah and Cam, standing next to each other at the knife station and looking over at us. They're smiling and whispering to each other. It's not hard to imagine what they're thinking, either. Nobody else is even bothering with the survival stations; they're all preoccupied with honing their skills and testing out the high-quality weapons.

"There will be plenty of time for that later," Hodgins told us this morning over a breakfast of bacon and eggs. I can't even remember the last time I had any part of a pig on my plate. I usually don't react well to red meat, but it was delicious, especially paired with the poached eggs…

"Sweetheart, ya listening?" Hodgins's voice cuts through my food-induced bliss like a knife. I look up, a half-chewed mouthful of egg still in my left cheek. I swallowed it awkwardly and chased it down with a couple sips of orange juice before I motioned for him to go on. "As I was saying," he continued, "stay away from the weapons stations for the day. Just focus on your survival skills, alright? Your strength and accuracy with weapons is not as important as your ability to survive whatever they throw at you out there. So head to the snares and traps and make sure you know how to build a fire for your food, and not one that's gonna get you killed your first night out. Got it?" Booth and I both nodded. "Good. Now that we've got that covered, tell me; just what _are _your 'special' skills? I mean, I know you're a hunter and you," he looks at Booth, "can bake, but what can you bring to the arena?"

I glance at Booth, who pushes his eggs around his plate, awkwardly, about as unwilling as I am to speak about our 'special' skills, considering…well, you know…

So we both stay quiet until Hodgins gets the message. "Alright then," he says, giving up, "you don't have to tell me just yet. Not in front of each other, anyway. Just finish up and get out there, alright? And make sure you get a good look at the others and what _they're_ good at. You might be able to use that to your advantage."

The rest of our breakfast was spent in silence, until Daisy came to escort us down to the training arena, where we are now, learning about different natural remedies from a man who looks as if he's lived in the woods surrounding Panem his whole life. Most of the remedies I remember from what my mother used to teach Angela and I, but a lot of what he teaches us is how to cure different exotic poisons and the proper way to heal cuts and wounds without using bandages, which may not be available to us unless when are able to find a first aid kit.

In District 12, Mom always made sure to keep a First Aid Kit stocked and ready in case of emergency. I usually am able to help her with that by collecting the herbs she asks for when I go hunting but most of her supplies come from the Hob. It's not the top-notch stuff she used to get working at her parents' apothecary from when she was my age, on the better side of 12, but it gets the job done. Especially since most of her patients suffer from malnutrition and dehydration and not serious injury.

But during the Games, finding a First Aid Kit will be next to impossible, because the Game Makers don't always choose to include them and unless you have good Sponsors…well, I think it's kind of obvious, isn't it?

So, here we are, learning the difference between Blueberries and Nightlock, which look similar but only one is edible, while the other would kill you in mere seconds. I think I remember my father teaching me about Nightlock years ago on one of my first trips out to the woods. I remember getting hungry about two miles away from the fence and picking out what I thought were blueberries. I was about to put them in my mouth but my father stopped me at the last minute.

"Oh, no ya don't!" he said, putting his hand over my mouth just in time, "Not these, Sweetie. Nightlock will put ya right to sleep. Only you'll never wake up." He gave me a grim look and I grimaced, dropping the berries immediately and rubbing the juice from my hands on my clothing. The juices were black, unlike blueberry juice which is obviously blue. "Always remember the difference, Temperance," Dad told me, "it could mean the difference between life and death."

So now I learn again the difference between Nightlock and Blueberries, as well as the difference between moss and poison ivy, how to identify poison oak, and how to properly purify water for cooking, as well as which berries and edible plants should be cooked before eating. It all sounds very…well, very boring to be honest and I find my gaze roaming towards the archery station where Hannah and Cam are now trying their hand at shooting moving targets. Hannah almost always misses, whereas Cam's shot is better, but I've seen her throw knives with deadly accuracy. The mere thought makes me shiver.

When we're done with our survival training, I think about going over to the archery section, if only to check out their bows, but Booth's hand on my wrist and the blow of a whistle stop me.

Training is over for the day and we have to go back up to our Penthouse to prepare for dinner and a meeting with our mentor about what we're going to do for our weapons test, in which we will showcase our skills to the Game Makers, including head Maker, Seneca Crane, who has successfully run the Games for the last three years in a row.

This test will gain us a score of 0-12, which will basically decide who will sponsor me during the Games, and according to Hodgins, Sponsors are the most important part of the Games, and they're practically necessary if we want to live.

"Your score is everything to Sponsors," he told us this morning, "so make sure you impress them."

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	15. Chapter 14

**Update!**

Chapter Fourteen

I'm crouched low, behind a bush, scoping out my prey with a spear clutched in my hand, watching and listening for any sign of life, whether it be a snapped twig or a rustled tree branch. I am adept at noticing even the smallest-

"Boo!"

I jump forward with a strangled squeak and turn, falling on my ass with the spearhead pointing towards…Booth!

I glare at him. "Booth!" I growl. "What the hell? We're supposed to be training! I could have killed you!"

Booth grins. "Nah, you're a good enough hunter to know you were never in any _real _danger. You wouldn't have hurt me. I'm too fast for you, anyhow." He smiles cockily at me; I want nothing more than to knock him over the head with my spear, but Hodgins has informed us that it's not a good idea for us to fight, especially not in front of the others since we're trying to give off the image of a united front. Keeping up this façade seems to be getting harder as Booth's constant goofy nature is getting in the way of my focus as a hunter. Besides, I highly doubt that we'll be allies in the arena…

I glare at him. "You're just lucky I didn't have a bow and arrow. Because had I lost my grip in my surprise, you might not be so lucky right now. Because I _never _miss."

Booth grins. "I believe it." I roll my eyes at him, before turning back to the training station, jumping slightly as a huge black bear jumps out from behind a tree. I fling the spear at it, sending it through the bear's raised claw. Not a fatal hit, but it's not bad for a first throw. Though the girl from six snorts at me and throws her own spear, getting the faux bear through its chest, causing the dummy to fall down. Her male counterpart claps for her, as do a couple of other, impressed, tributes standing nearby.

I shrug it off. It's not like I'll be spending much time with a spear in my hand, anyway. If I do well in my weapons test, there may be a bow and arrow with my name on it. Maybe then, I'll stand a fighting chance.

I look over at the archery station for possibly the hundredth time in the last two days. I want nothing more than to try out the shining metal bow with the matching, perfectly straight arrows. They would probably glide through the air and straight into the targets, set up about fifty feet from where the bows are placed. Hannah, the girl from One, is practicing with one now. She's pretty good at it, but always slightly off-center, and her form is bad; she continually snaps her cheek and catches her fingers when she releases the arrows. If she doesn't quit soon, her cheek is going to be completely raw and bloody; not a good first impression considering our interviews with Hank Flickerman (belatedly realized this) are tomorrow night. Although if she is planning on using her archery talents in her own weapons test tonight, the raw cheek will make it look as if she's tough and persistent, a true survivalist. It might make it even more likely for them to put a bow and arrow in the arena, though I have no doubts I'll be fighting Hannah for them.

I'll kill her in cold blood for them.

"Hey," Booth's voice interrupts my thoughts, "don't look now but I think you have a shadow."

I glance in the direction he's looking and I catch a glimpse of something-or rather, some_one_-as it disappears behind a fake tree. I look up at Booth, questioningly. He smiles.

"It's Michelle," he mouths, smiling in her direction. She pokes her head out from behind the tree and he waves at her, all friendly. She waves back, shyly, and smiles slightly, before joining us at the spear station, though we're pretty much done here.

We move on to target practice with slingshots and knives. I'm impressed with Michelle's accuracy with a slingshot; she almost never misses. Then, while we practice climbing trees and scaling fake mountainsides, she's like a small woodland creature, jumping from tree to tree as swiftly as a squirrel. I lose sight of her for a moment before she suddenly jumps down from a tree just a few yards ahead of me.

Maybe she has a better chance at winning than we thought.

**-x-**

We make it back to our suite that night without injury, more than I can say for Hannah and her bloodied cheek or the boy from Seven who fell from a tree and injured his knee. With such little recovery time, it's unlikely he'll even have a chance at survival now.

As soon as we enter the Penthouse, Daisy is on top of us, coaching us on how to greet the Gamemakers and to make sure we are kind and courteous and respectful because they control our scores and our scores control our sponsors, who will decide whether we live or die in that arena. We must also remember to do our very best to showcase our talents, and blah, blah, blah…

I stop listening halfway through her tirade and she practically follows me back to my room, where I change for my test and put my hair back into its usual braid. Daisy speaks to me through the door the entire time.

When I finally step out of my room, she ushers me to the table for a quick dinner, where she continues to talk mine and Booth's ears off as we eat.

Thankfully, Hodgins comes in at that moment, _not_ drunk, surprisingly, but a bit buzzed, and tells Daisy to shove a sock in it, then looks me in the eye, his blue ones intense and red-rimmed from his many years of drinking.

"You ready?" he asks, gruffly.

I nod. He turns to Booth as asks the same. Booth nods, as well.

"Good," Hodgins says, "Because, if not, you have about twenty minutes to get there."

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	16. Chapter 15

**UPDATE!**

Chapter Fifteen

Hodgins was right; I had only twenty minutes to get to the training arena for my test, which meant that I had to either choke down my entire dinner in five minutes _or_ go without.

I opted for the latter, leaving my plate where it was, barely touched. It didn't matter so much; I was used to going hungry before a hunt, anyway. It was usually my drive.

What I wasn't used to, though, was somebody running up behind me, calling my name.

"Brennan!" Booth called out as he jogged towards the closing elevator doors. His hand wedged in just before the doors closed and he stepped on, giving a large, over-exaggerated sigh of relief, before smiling over at me.

I eyed him, suspiciously. "What are you doing?" I asked.

His smile widened and he shrugged. "My test is right after yours, isn't it?" I shook my head; how was I supposed to know? The tests were scheduled by random selection. The only ones with any knowledge of the actual appointment times were the mentors, but unlike the tribute parade and tomorrow night's interviews, the skills tests were not done in district order, but randomized through a computer. Then the appointments were sent straight to the mentors. All we tributes knew was the date of our appointment. It was always the night before the interviews.

So maybe Booth's test _was _after mine-or rather, _is_-but how am I supposed to know that? Anyway, I just shrugged and stayed silent the rest of the ride down. Then, at around floor six, halfway down, he held out his hands to me. "So," he said, still grinning, "what's your poison?"

My eyes widened as I noticed the fruits he held in his palms; an apple and a pear. I looked back up at him, frowning.

"I don't know what that means." The doors opened and I stepped off, walking briskly down the hall, in the direction of the arena, but Booth caught up to me easily and blocked my path. He was still grinning.

"I meant, do you prefer apples or pears? You know, to eat?" He chuckled, holding out the two fruits again.

I looked down at them, before shaking my head. "No thanks," I replied. "Not really in the mood to eat right now."

I attempted to side-step him but he got in my way, his smile faltering slightly. "Come on, Brennan," he said, "take one. You can't just go in without eating anything; you might faint."

Now it was my turn to chuckle. "Faint?" I scoffed. "Booth, it's just one meal and it's not like I've never gone hungry before. Back in Twelve I'd rarely had enough for dinner. You know that."

His grin completely slipped from his face at this, but he painted it back on his face as best he could as he offered me the pear. "Just…eat it? Please? I don't want you feeling like you have to go hungry again. Please? For me?"

I don't know what it is but something about the way his eyes pleaded with me made me reach out and take the pear from his hand, the fruit warmed by his palm, and take a bite. "There," I said, through a mouthful of pear, "you happy now?"

His grin widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes," he replied, "very." He took a bite of the apple in his other hand, then tipped an invisible hat to me. "Milady; good luck." He winked before walking back to the elevators. I watched him step on, then look back as the doors closed. He was still grinning when they did.

As soon as he could no longer see me and I couldn't see him, I tossed the pear into the nearest trash can, as well as spit out the mouthful I'd taken.

I couldn't afford to take any chances.

I still can't.

Now I stand here, just mere moments away from the test that will decide my fate in the arena—whether I die like 22 others or am left the only one standing—and yet, my hands can't seem to stop shaking.

I've tried everything I can think of to keep them still but they just don't want to cooperate. They're shaking so horribly that you would think it was freezing in here, but's it's not. I'm sweating bullets right now, it's so hot.

I mean, isn't it? It must be if I'm sweating so much, right?

The door to the arena opens with a bang and the girl from Two, Cam Saroyan, steps out, grinning proudly. She shoots me a victorious look, but says nothing as she swaggers, victoriously, down the hall, bumping my shoulder as she walks past.

As I watch her go, my hands begin to shake even worse, and my breathing becomes shallow. Then I hear my name and I feel my heart nearly explode in my chest.

Here goes nothing.

**Stay tuned!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Double Day!**

Chapter Sixteen

My hands are still shaking when I step fully into the arena, which I can see has been set up with new equipment especially for the tests. Everything looks shiny and sterile and so completely perfect that it's hard to believe this room has ever been used at all despite its prior 73 years of use. The Gamemakers are seated around a large meeting table on a guarded platform on the far end of the room, laughing about something or other and sharing drinks and small talk. Sitting in the largest seat is Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker. He's still young, only in his early thirties or so and he looks very happy sitting with his friends, or who I assume to be his friends, by the way he regards them with some semblance of respect.

None of them look up when I enter; all too preoccupied with their drinks and each other's apparently _enthralling _tales of Games past.

I clear my throat, loudly, as I approach them, stopping near the Archery station, which I'd eyed so longingly in training and was now given the chance to actually _use_. That is, if my hands would just _stop shaking_!

None of them even notice the sixteen year old girl with the braid and shaking digits. I speak up. "Excuse me?" Nothing. I feel my temper begin to rise. "Hello?" I practically shout, trying to keep my tone even, though I'm now practically shaking with anger. My hands start to calm though.

Seneca is the first to turn his head towards me. He smiles widely, his perfect white teeth looking like the Big Bad Wolf's. "Oh, why hello there, Miss…?"

I narrow my eyes at him. Isn't it his job to know who I am? "Temperance," I help him out, "Temperance Brennan. District-"

"Twelve," he interrupts. "Yes, I know you now. Good day, Miss Brennan. My name is Seneca. Seneca Crane. I am the Head Gamemaker and this test is for myself and my colleagues to get a feel for your abilities on the playing field. You may use anything in this room to show your skill and you have up to five minutes to show us what you can do. Ready?" I nod. "Very well. Begin."

All the Gamemakers turn attentively toward me and I feel my hands begin to shake again as I walk over to the rack with the perfectly straight silver arrows and well-strung bow. The bow is well-balanced and the string it's tied with seems to be something much more valuable than plain rope, but there's no time to figure out what it is now.

I grab one of the arrows and load it into the bow as I take my place by the human-shaped targets, staying at least three feet behind the regulation line, just to be safe.

I will my hands to stop shaking as I raise the bow to eye level, focusing my eyes on the head, my go-to kill shot, between the eyes. I take a deep breath in as I pull back on the arrow and let the air out of my lungs slowly as I release, sending the arrow soaring over the target's head.

My heart drops immediately and I hear a murmur of snorts and coughs coming from behind me as all the grown men and women attempt to hold back their giggles.

My shoulders droop and I take another deep breath. I still have three and a half minutes. I do not intend to waste them.

I go back to the rack and take three more arrows, then make my way back to the target. I load the first arrow, aim and shoot lower. Too low. The arrow pierces the wooden piece that acts at the neck, connecting the body and the head. I load the second arrow and aim a tiny bit higher…

There! That's much better. It's not perfect, but I'm sure it could be with just a little more focus.

I load the third arrow, my hands still trembling slightly, and aim, once again, for the dummy. I close my eyes a second, take a deep breath in, and open them as I let the breath go with my arrow.

This time, it pierces the head.

Right. Between. The eyes.

I feel a small smile of relief spread across my face as I let the rest of my breath out in a whoosh. My arms fall to my sides, my left hand still holding the bow, and I glance over at the Gamemakers, expecting to see their impressed expressions.

Only, they're not even looking at me! Not even Seneca!

They're all invested in a large roasted pig that just arrived at their table. Seneca, especially! He stands there, laughing with his friends and carving some of the pig's backside for his friend, his back to me.

My hands immediately stop shaking as my face heats up in anger, and I'm not quite sure how much control I have over my actions as I grab another arrow, load it into the bow and aim it at his head. Nobody notices of course, not even the armed guards who should've been protecting the Gamemakers, but who are, instead, gazing longingly up at the pig. I guess they had to go without dinner tonight, as well.

It would be so easy to just shoot him in the back of the head, to just end his life right then and there, with all of the others watching. But, then, who knows what kind of hell I would run into in the arena. That is, considering they would even allow me into the arena after this.

My anger is too great though, and it far trumps my will to survive as I pull back on the arrow, fully intending on ending Seneca's life right then and there.

But, at the last second my bow turns and I end up shooting the apple lodged in the pig's mouth, sending both apple and arrow into the wall behind it.

The room suddenly goes silent as the apple hits the wall and all eyes are drawn to it, then Seneca and a few others turn curiously towards me, their eyes wide and frightened.

I stand there for a moment staring them all down, before I give a shallow bow, my eyes narrowed at Seneca. "Thank you," I say, sarcastically, "for your…_consideration_."

Then, just like that, I deposit the bow back on the rack and walk out, like I couldn't give a damn.

I might have just ended my own life, let Hodgins down, let Daisy and Gordon and Caroline down…let _Angela_ down.

And I really don't give a damn.

**REVIEWS!**

**Okay, so I have a confession to make and I hope this is not really important to anybody because I change for nobody, but I don't want to lose followers or anything, but I believe this must be said…**

**I have just become a fan of the show, Castle, on ABC. And I know there's some sort of weird feud between the two shows and a lot of Bonesheads don't like Castle-whatever's (what is their fan name, anyway?) but idgaf, because the show is good and I still prefer Bones over Castle, anyway, but I just wanted to let y'all know just in case you follow me on Tumblr (Cassiebones224) and start seeing a bunch of Castle stuff. Okay, that's all, just needed to get that offa my chest!**


	18. Chapter 17

**I stayed up all last night (not writing this) and slept until one pm this morning. I have had a very unproductive day and then suddenly I get inspiration like you wouldn't believe and you guys are the ones who benefit! Enjoy!**

Chapter Seventeen

"I cannot believe you would do this!" Daisy ranted, pacing back and forth in front of me in the sitting room. It's been about twelve hours since I shot the arrow at the Gamemakers. Eleven and a half since I locked myself in for the night, not bothering to speak to anybody about it, not even Hodgins. Now, we're all gathered around the living room; Daisy, Booth, Gordon, Caroline, and me. Hodgins hasn't come out of his room yet; he's probably still drunk. Or hung over. Possibly a mixture of both.

When Daisy had woken me up this morning, all I could think of was last night. I might have just signed my death certificate, or worse, Angela's. What if they hurt her over my stupidity? Because I embarrassed them so greatly. They have the power, I know that much. I sat up in my bed, feeling weighed down as if by lead. It took all my effort to dress and put my hair into its usual braid. I attempted to paint a smile on my face but I failed, miserably, so I just settled for pretending to be tired.

I'd opened the door to Daisy's energetic smile and rolled my eyes, brushing past her on my way to the breakfast table, where everybody was already setting down to eat. I didn't even acknowledge any of them as I scooped fresh fruit onto my plate and took a roll from the center of the table, buttered it and just started eating. Nobody said anything to me, either; I think they could all tell I wasn't in the mood. Booth did, however, nudge my hand and send me a concerned look when I glanced at him. I shook my head and he got it, looking back down at his own plate before continuing a conversation with Gordon.

Towards the end of the meal, Daisy seemed to have had enough of me being quiet, because she asked Booth and I about last night's test and what we did for it.

I glanced over at Booth, who was grinning, shyly. "I, uh, I just threw around a couple of things. Like those weights they have on the racks, you know? I threw one at an archery target and it pretty much snapped in half. Not that they were even paying me any attention…"

"What do you mean?" I asked. Booth's test _had_ been right after mine, which means that the Gamemakers should have been a bit shaken up after the whole arrow incident. At least, I thought they should be. They should at least have been paying attention to the other tributes, shouldn't they?

But Booth just shrugged. "It seemed like they were more interested in dinner than in watching me throw weights around. About five minutes into it, they told me I could go, as if I was just wasting their time."

"Don't take it too personally," Caroline assured him, "most of those hoity-toits in there think they're too good for you to even be in their presence. That's what they want you to think, anyway. They were probably watching you out the corner of their eyes the entire time. You've nothing to worry about, Cherie." There were nods of agreement from both Gordon and Daisy.

We were all silent for a moment before Daisy had to go and ruin it. "How about you, Temperance?" she asked. "How was _your_ test? Did you do archery? I bet they were _very _impressed, were they not?" Over the course of the last few days Daisy has come to know what a talented archer I am by Hodgins and Booth, though she's never seen me shoot an arrow before.

I nodded slightly, then stopped, staring off into space, trying to decide whether or not I should tell her about the pig. Booth was the first to notice my uneasiness. "Brennan?" he asked, nudging me lightly with his arms. "You okay?"

I nodded, my decision made, and look straight at Daisy. "I don't think impressed is the right word," I said, cryptically, waiting to see if she would ask me to clarify. She did, through a mouthful of scrambled egg. "Well, at first I couldn't get a bull's eye with the metal arrows they'd given us, so I practiced a few times until I got it right. But while I had been practicing, they stopped watching so that when I did get a perfect shot, none of them were even paying attention."

"Well, that's quite rude now, isn't it?" Gordon asked, rhetorically. "Did you do anything to get their attention?"

I could feel my face heat up, slightly as I avoided making eye contact with Daisy. "You could say that," I responded, pushing strawberries around on my plate.

Daisy stopped chewing at that point and narrowed her eyes at me, swallowing hard. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. When I refused to look up and meet her eyes, she pressed on. "Temperance? What did you do?"

I cleared my throat. "Nothing, really. I just…shot an arrow at their table."

I didn't wait for Daisy's response as I threw my napkin on my plate and rushed from the table to the living area while she sat there, practically choking on air.

Eventually everybody stood and followed me to the sitting room, each of them settling down on the many plush surfaces. Daisy was the last to enter, looking livid, as she began her rant.

And now we all sit here, not talking, as she is probably only halfway through her tirade, scolding me for not minding my temper, going on and on about how I could be punished, how they could _all_ be punished because of my stunts.

As if I weren't painfully aware of that fact already.

Then, out of nowhere, Hodgins' voice came out over hers, loud and clear. "What are you complaining about now, Woman?" he asks, before he appears from behind a pillar.

Daisy stops mid-sentence and glares at him. "_Your tribute_," she seethes, "has done something so stupid and-and bull-headed in her own anger that we could all be in serious trouble over it!"

Hodgins' eyes widens and his eyebrows shoot up. He looks over at me. "What'd you do?"

I open my mouth to answer but Daisy beats me to it. "She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers!" she exclaims, waiting for his expression to match her outraged one.

It never got there, though. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face as he eyes me with amusement. He raises one thumb at me, grinning madly. "Good job, Sweetheart! Wait," his face becomes concerned, "you didn't shoot anybody, did ya?"

I shake my head. "Just the apple in a roast pig's mouth…" His expression goes blank. "They were having dinner," I explain. His smile returns, at full wattage.

"Wonderful!" He booms, laughing uproariously. "And just what did they say to that?"

I smile, coyly. "They didn't say anything," I say "I left before they could, but I, uh, I thanked them."

"Thanked them?" Hodgins repeats. "For what?"

I grin. "For their consideration."

Hodgins chortled. "Wonderful!" He claps his hands. "Amazing! Good job, Sweetie!"

Daisy gapes at him. "Good…_good job?!_" she hissed. "GOOD JOB?! Jack Stanley Hodgins! Do you know what she could have just done to us? She could have just-"

"Aw, don't get yer panties in a twist, Daisy!" Hodgins interrupts. "They're not gonna do anything to her! Not with the Games so close now! It's too late to replace her or any of us for that matter. The worst they'll do is make the arena hell for her. Sorry, kid."

I shrug. "It's not like they were going to take it easy on me before, anyway." Hodgins nods and continues grinning. He looks like he's about to say something more when the large, flat-screened television turns on and Hank (I forgot what I made his last name and if anybody could help me that'd be wonderful!) appears on the screen, smiling winningly at the camera from behind a large counter, next to Claudius Templesmith. Both are holding papers and seem to be sharing some sort of inside joke, before they notice they're on the air.

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen," Hank greets, "I'm Hank (insertlastnamehere)…"

"And I'm Claudius Templesmith! And now it's time for the announcement of the Tribute Scores! For those of you not familiar with the scores; each tribute is tested on his or her abilities and each is given a score from 0-12."

"That's correct, Claudius! The score rates the tributes on their abilities and plays a big role in deciding what kind of sponsorship they'll be receiving!"

"Yessirree, Hank! Now, let's get to those score, shall we?" He looks down at his own paper and begins reading the scores for Hannah and Wendell from One.

They go down the list as we all watch, transfixed, and wait for Booth's and my scores to be announced. Once they get to Eleven, I'm at the edge of my seat and surprised to hear that Michelle received a score of seven, which is higher than I expected. She may have a chance, after all. Clark receives a ten, no surprise there. Then Booth's name is called and his score is…

Eight!

Everybody turns to Booth to congratulate him. An eight truly is impressive, especially since, according to Booth, the Gamemakers hadn't even been paying him any attention. Hodgins raises his glass to him and Booth grins, proudly.

Then they call my name and my picture comes up on the screen, an Eleven flashing underneath it.

And, just like that, everything is quiet.

**REVIEWS!**


	19. Chapter 18

**In honor of the new Bones promo we will hopefully get tonight, I am updating! So…enjoy!**

Chapter Eighteen

My jaw is as slack as those around me as my eyes stay glued to the screen, which is no longer flashing the gold eleven, but is now filled with the Capitol seal before it goes completely blank. The suddenly black screen seems to break everyone from their trance and they all turn their eyes towards me, while my eyes are suddenly fixed on the blank screen.

Everything is silent for another awkward moment before Gordon speaks up.

"Very good, Temperance!" he praises, causing me to look up at him, out of my own trance. "Very good indeed!" He's holding his cup of tea out as if to toast to me. I smile shyly at him, before chancing a glance over at Daisy and Hodgins, both equally as shocked.

A slow smile spreads across Hodgins's face. "Well, whaddaya know? Good job, Sweetheart!" He raises his own glass of Orange Juice (I assume it's probably about 50% liquor) and grins, nudging Daisy, who gasps and looks at me, smiling awkwardly.

"Oh yes!" she says, "Good job, Temperance! Simply marvelous!" She claps, excitedly.

I smile at her and thank them both, before looking to Booth, who looks as if he's lost a bit of color. "Booth?" He turns to me. "Are you alright?"

He smiles at me, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he says, "I'm fine. I'm just…just a little tired is all. I think I'm gonna go lie down."

"Not for too long," Daisy interjects, "don't forget, you have to be downstairs for hair and makeup by two PM. And lunch will be served by noon."

Booth nods and stands up, heading to his room. We all watch him go, then Hodgins stands and begins to follow him, not saying a thing as he leaves.

Daisy smiles at me then, grabbing my hand in hers, tightly. "Well, I think this calls for celebration, don't you? For lunch, we'll break out the red wine and we'll have whatever you want! Anything!"

My eyes widen at this and I smile, good-humourly as I suggest having a lunch of rabbit and squirrel. Daisy goes pale for a moment and Gordon chuckles behind me, but I don't turn to him, just content with watching Daisy fight the urge to gag. I decide to end her torture.

"Venison is also nice this time of year, I hear," I say, suggestively.

Daisy's color slowly returns as she nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, venison. That would be good. I'll go place the order now." With that, she walks out.

Gordon bursts into laughter and even Caroline joins in. I smile at them, but I can't seem to enjoy my little joke. I can't seem to stop thinking about Booth.

-x-

"To Temperance Brennan for achieving possibly the highest Competitor Score in all of Hunger Games history!"

Everybody, including myself, raises their glass to Daisy's toast. Booth and Hodgins have yet to join us, so it's really just myself, Gordon, Caroline, and Daisy, but the toast is still heart-warming and it makes me blush. When Booth arrives, I'm sure we'll toast to his impressive score as well.

It seems that Daisy ordered the venison just in time because it's still too hot to eat, so I have to focus on my vegetables. I don't mind this, of course, since it's a very rare moment when I'm able to enjoy food that didn't have a family at one point. I would probably be a vegetarian if I didn't rely so heavily on meat for my main source of nutrition.

I have a mouthful of carrots and peas when Hodgins finally swaggers out to the table for lunch, looking slightly distracted by something. He sits down at the table and I can see him glance at me from the corner my eye, but when I look at him he looks away, pouring himself some red wine.

After a few moments of silence, save for the occasional glass clinking or silverware hitting plates and teeth, Caroline is the one to finally speak up.

"Where's Seeley?" she asks Hodgins.

Hodgins clears his throat and takes another sip of wine before answering. "The kid's not feeling too well right now. I think the nerves over tonight's interview are finally getting to him."

"Will he be alright for training tomorrow?" I ask. I know how nerves can affect you. Even after the event that causes them, you may be on edge for a while. I'd hate for that to be the case when we have our private training session with Hodgins.

Hodgins clears his throat again and looks away. "About that…"

"What?" I ask, when he fails to finish his sentence.

"Booth has requested that I train each of you, separately."

I nearly drop my fork, I'm so shocked. And betrayed. I can barely get my next words out.

"Okay, then," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "that's fine."

That's a bold-faced lie. It's not fine. Far from it.

But, if that's how he wants to play this, then that's fine.

I don't care.

Another lie.

**REVIEW!**


	20. Chapter 19

**It's Bones Day! Currently, we have 7 hours and twenty minutes on the East Coast until the premiere of Season 8! No amount of Fan Fiction I have read this summer could POSSIBLY have prepared me for this! I am currently updating from my college (!) library and I feel very strange and somewhat thrilled by it. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this!**

Chapter Nineteen

"Once more please," Gordon requests and I twirl again, beginning to feel light-headed.

"Can I please rest now? I feel like I'm about to tip over." Gordon nods and I drop myself onto the seat next to his, on the couch in my dressing room. He scolds me and I sit up straighter, but all I really want to do is go back up to the Penthouse, throw on a pair of pajamas, and crawl under the covers. Perhaps I'll never leave…

But Gordon, Daisy, and the guards stationed at my door would never allow that. Especially since our interviews are tonight with Hank Flickerman (can't have him related to Booth because it would not make any sense), the talk-show host who covers the Games every single year. He's getting on in years and I assume he's been a host for perhaps the last forty or so years but the signature twinkle in his warm brown eyes suggests that he has plenty more to go. I haven't met him, personally, yet, but I assume meeting him will not be unpleasant. At least, I hope it won't be. Maybe he'll do all the talking tonight so I won't have to say much. I don't really think I'll be able to talk once I get out there, anyway. I'm not very sociable—Angela's the social one. I'm just sort of awkward.

Gordon's eyes study me as my thoughts run wild. "What are you thinking about?" he asks, sounding slightly concerned, but mostly thoughtful.

I shrug. "Nothing." He narrows his eyes at me. I sigh. "How do you get people to like you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I've just said," I say, "How do you get people to like you?"

Gordon shrugs. "It depends on who you want to like you. And why. Why?"

I shrug again. "I'm not very good at it. Getting people to like me, I mean."

"Well, you got me to like you," he offers.

"That's different; I wasn't trying."

He smiles. "Exactly. It's effortless, Temperance. All you have to do is be yourself. Chances are _somebody_ will like you. And if they don't, then who needs them anyway?" I laugh and he smiles. "There you go. Wonderful. Beautiful. Don't lose that smile; use it to your advantage. And don't forget to twirl."

"What if he doesn't ask me to twirl?"

"Find a way to bring it up. Mention something about fire. That ought to do it. But make sure you play it off, casually. You don't want to seem like you're just showing off. Be graceful about it."

"But, how-"

"Temperance Brennan, District 12," a voice floats through the door, "time to go."

The guards ask me if I'm ready and I hold up one finger, signaling one more minute. I look desperately at Gordon and he helps me stand up, places his hands on my shoulder. "I'll be in the crowd," he says, "sitting with Caroline and our team. Just look for me if you get nervous. Answer your questions as if I'm the one asking them, and when the time comes for you to twirl, I'll let you know." He kisses my forehead. "You're going to do splendidly tonight, my dear."

He kisses my forehead again and then he lets go of me as the guards come over to escort me to the stage.

-X-X-X-X-

There's a line waiting when I get there, going in order of Districts, with the girl tributes first every time.

Booth is already there, looking handsome in a tailored suit, his usually spiky brown hair gelled back. A few hairs stick up, still, unwilling to be tamed. I can't help but smile at this, but then my smile fades as I remember that I'm supposed to be angry at him for requesting individual training.

It's easier said than done as I step up to the line and he grins at me, causing something in my abdomen to twitch, not unpleasantly.

"Hey," he says as I step in line.

"Hi," I say back, turning my back on him. I want him to know I'm not speaking to him and the fact that he doesn't attempt any more conversation tells me it's working.

I can hear the shouts and screams coming from the audience, which can't be more than three hundred feet from where we're standing. Hank must have just arrived.

My suspicions are confirmed when Hannah Burley's name is called and everybody shuffles forward to fill the empty space she leaves behind.

The interviews have begun.

**Okay, I wanted to make this longer but I have a class soon so I'm going to have to leave this for another day. A lot of reviews might make me update all the more sooner!**


	21. Chapter 20

**I'm so so so so so so so so sorry! Gah! Writer's Block is such a freaking pain in the ass. Add that to my college classes and the fact that I'm just a lazy good for nothing procrastinator, well…I think y'all get the point. Anyways, here's a new chapter. Enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty

Each interview is about five minutes long, some of the shortest interviews Hank has all year, but he fills them masterfully with important and riveting questions, guaranteed to bring the audience members to the edges of their seats awaiting the answers. I find myself holding my breath when the boy from Four talks about how he had to perform some sort of life-saving practice on his younger sister when she fell into the ocean and very nearly drowned. I let my breath out when he revealed that she survived, but just barely. Then the girl from Six describes her mother's brutal death after being crushed in an avalanche of train parts at the factory she worked in. When the camera pans to the audience I can see some of them dabbing at their eyes with colorful handkerchiefs and clutching their chests in sympathy. It looks heartfelt, too, until Six's time is up and everybody applauds when her male counterpart comes out to the stage. It's as if her mother is completely forgotten. As she walks by, I tell her I'm sorry about her mother and she murmurs a thank you, but I could swear I see her lips twitch upwards, as sure as I am that there are no tears in her eyes.

Strange.

Before I know it, Clark is sitting opposite Hank, describing what life is like in Eleven. He seems wary to answer most of Hank's questions on the subject and gives roundabout answers about the Peacemakers and the work that he does in the Orchards. Then, he's standing to take his bow and it's my turn.

Clark comes out as I ascend the steps and nods stiffly to me, not in greeting but, rather, acknowledgement. I nod back. I am about to step through the curtain when I hear Booth's voice behind me.

"Break a leg, Brennan." I turn to eye him, warily. What does he mean by that? Is that some sort or saying or does he _actually_ want me to break a limb so I am unable to compete. It's very hard to tell right now, especially as I am shuffled out onto the stage by the stage manager, who has his hand planted firmly on my upper back, between my shoulder blades.

I turn forward just as I come through the curtain and take that first dizzying step onstage. Then, it's as I've stepped into a whole new world; one light years from where I was just seconds ago.

There must be thousands of people here, a hundred thousand, _at least_. Far more than I've ever seen in my entire District, let alone a single room. And they're all clapping…for _me_. Some are standing and clapping, others are whistling, cheering, flailing their arms like…well, I don't know any other word for it besides crazy. They're all crazy, insane, every last one of them in their adoration of me. How they can adore me and at the same time be rooting for me to die in the upcoming Games they've constructed is beyond me.

Suddenly, at this thought, my breath leaves me. Every single one of the people in this room will be watching me die, with smiles on their faces, most of them, or with slight frowns, like _Oh no, I was really hoping she'd make it a bit farther than that. Oh well. _It sickens me and causes every single one of their voices to die down until they're just a distant echo in my ears. I attempt to keep the contempt off my face as I turn towards Hank Flickerman, who is standing and smiling warmly at me, putting out his hands to take mine. I look for Gordon's face in the crowd, catching sight of him a few rows out, sitting with his and Caroline's team. He nods in encouragement and I reach out to let Hank take my hands. He rubs them and kisses them, before kissing my cheek and motioning for me to sit down. I do and I see his lips moving but I don't hear what he says. I realize I'm still attempting to tune everything out. I take a breath as all the noise returns to my ears and I lean towards him. "What?"

He chuckles, and the crowd follows, causing my face to heat up slightly. He doesn't milk the laughter, though. He just lets it pass briefly before repeating his question.

"I said, my dear, that the Capitol must be a very big change from District Twelve. What's impressed you the most since you've been here?"

I take a deep breath, a front to think of how I want to respond to that question. I go for honesty. "The lamb stew," I say. This is partially true. We had lamb stew for lunch one day and I loved it. It was cooked to what I can only think of as perfection. I could never make a meal that well, nor could Greasy Sae even hope to.

He lets out a loud, booming laugh. "Lamb Stew!" he echoes in his deep bass. "My dear, I know what you mean! I eat it by the bucketful!" He turns with mock-concern towards the audience. "It doesn't show, does it?" They all hasten to assure him that it doesn't. "Good. Now," he turns to me with a serious expression, "Temperance, I think I speak for all of us when I say what a remarkable young woman you are." For a moment, I think he is speaking about what I did for my sister, and then he adds, "I mean, when I saw you come out during the Parade and I saw that outfit…wow. Magnificent. How did it feel to be wearing such a…_unique_ ensemble?"

I turn to look at Gordon and he nods, giving me a slight thumbs up. I turn back to Hank. "It felt incredible. I loved it."

"Really? I would think you would be uneasy, what with the…" he makes a strange gesture and I immediately know what he means.

"The flames? No, they weren't scary. Honestly, I was more wary that they would spook the horses." That gains a round of laughter from the audience. I have no idea why.

"So how would you describe them, then, if not 'scary'?" He asks.

"Exhilarating," I say, "in fact," I eye Gordon, who smiles at me, "I'm wearing them right now."

Hank's eyes widen. "What do you mean?" he asks, looking at my dress, "You mean you're…?" I nod.

"Would you like to see?"

"Is it…is it safe?" He sounds truly concerned, not only for himself, but for me as well.

I nod. "Perfectly safe," I assure him. I stand and take a few steps forward, towards the audience, all eyes attached to the dress I'm wearing as it waves slightly and swirls around me. "Don't blink." I say, on impulse, as I begin to turn, causing the hem of my dress to go up in flames. Or, at least, it _appears _to. And the flames rise up to mid-thigh but the dress doesn't disintegrate like I know most of them are afraid will happen. Instead, it just continues to burn as I turn. And the longer I spin in circles up on that stage, the bigger the impulse I have to just start laughing and I soon find myself doing just that, until I'm dizzy and out of breath, nearly toppling over in my heels. Hank reaches out, valiantly, to catch me and steady me, smiling and laughing with me as he helps me into my seat.

"There you go, dear. Easy, now. Wow, that dress…it is quite the fashion statement, isn't it? Are you big on fashion in District Twelve?"

I shake my head, still smiling in spite of myself. "No," I say, "not at all."

"Oh no? Then, what is the big thing in Twelve? Dish."

"Coal," I say, bluntly, before bursting into nerdy laughter. The audience follows with a few chuckles and snorts of their own.

Hank chuckles too. "Oh, Temperance, it seems we only have another minute left and there are still a couple of things I want to ask you before you leave us." Those words ground me and I now have to fight to keep the smile on my face as I nod. "First is your score from your skills test. I haven't seen a score so high in…oh, _years_! You must've done something mighty impressive to impress the Gamemakers, huh?"

I can almost see myself blanch at the question, but I try to keep my voice even and light as I reply. "I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to talk about that here." I turn towards the special box the Gamemakers themselves possess, up on a balcony. "Am I?" I ask.

They all smile at me and shake their heads. One actually answers. "No, she's not," he says, "sorry!"

Hank just shrugs. "Oh well," he says, "moving on, then; the second thing I would like to talk about is the Reaping, how you stepped in for your younger sister. Her name is Angela, isn't it?" I nod, my smile vanishing altogether as I notice his own face getting serious. "Well, I just want to say, on behalf of all of us here in the Capitol, how much I admire your bravery and your self-sacrifice. You two must be very close, is that right?"

I nod. "I would do anything for Angela." I say. It's the most honest thing I've said since I arrived in the Capitol. Probably the most honest thing I've _ever_ said.

Hank nods. "I can see that. You know, not most people would make that kind of sacrifice for their family, but you, I can tell you're different. Now, before you go, can you tell us what you said to your sister, assuming she visited you after the Reaping?"

I nod. "She did. And what I said to her…I told her that I'd try to win, for her. That I would do everything it took to make it home to her." I can feel my eyes welling up with tears at the thought of my younger sister and how she looked as I was taken away from her after uttering those words just days ago. I hold them back; I will not allow myself to be seen as a weakling. Not now.

Hank nods and takes my hand. "And try you shall," he says, kissing it again, before standing and pulling me up with him, raising both our arms above our heads. "A great round of applause, please, for Temperance Brennan, the Girl on _FIRE!_"

The applause is deafening, and this time I don't tune it out; I allow it to drive me.

**Okay, so I don't know if this is enough for y'all, but I sorta made plans to hang out with my friend. Hopefully I will have time to update tomorrow (fingers crossed) but if not, have a wonderful weekend and an even better BONES Monday! AND REVIEW!**


	22. Chapter 21

**Whoa! Has it been three weeks already?! I'm so sorry guys! But I just had midterms and my Creative Writing one took me such a long time to do (it was nineteen pages, 12-font) and studying for the others was murder, plus I have to reread Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for my College Writing class and so…well, I think you get it; I have been busy. I'm gonna do everybody a favor and stop promising new updates when I can't follow up on them, but I will promise you that I am definitely going to finish this story (just not anytime soon!) and I ask that you please not give up on it! Pretty please! Anyways, enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter Twenty-One

As I finally make my way backstage and away from the deafening applause, I take a deep breath and wipe at my eyes, blinking rapidly so that the tears welling up in my eyes don't leak out.

"Look up," a voice from behind me says. I turn around to find Booth standing there, about to go on. He smiles at me. "If you look up, the tears won't fall."

I narrow my eyes at him but don't say anything. He shrugs and turns to walk out onto the stage. I hear the light buzzing of applause turn to a dim roar from behind the curtain as he walks out.

I couldn't care less.

I allow one of the stage workers to lead me to a small sitting area where Hodgins and Daisy are sitting, looking up at a large screen mounted on the wall in from of them. Daisy smiles at me and motions for me to sit next to her on a soft-looking sofa. I do, reluctantly, sitting a good foot away from her, but she scoots closer and puts one arm around me in an awkward, crushing side-hug.

"You did so well up there!" she squeals in my ear, "I can't believe how natural you are! Simply marvelous!"

I force a smile, though I'm still fighting back tears (I really have no idea why I feel the urge to cry right now).

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to focus on Booth's interview. He and Hank are going on about the showers in the Capitol and how they're different from the ones in District Twelve.

All I can think about is how we don't even _have_ showers in District Twelve. Not in the Seam, at least. I don't know if they have showers in the part Booth and my mother are from.

Now, they're _sniffing_ each other! Booth tells Hank that he smells like roses and Hank returns the compliment. It is stated that Hank's scent is stronger than Booth's.

"Well, I've lived here longer," Hank says, jokingly, getting a big laugh from the crowd.

Now, they're talking about girls; this gets my interest (again, I can't say why I react this way).

"So, Seeley, I bet back in Twelve you're quite the ladies' man, huh?" Hank asks, nudging Booth with his elbow.

Booth has the decency to look a little embarrassed. I can't help but smile. I know plenty of girls who have practically drooled over Booth. It was understandable, too. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and he was fit—very uncommon for males my age in Twelve. He would be a strong breeder, though I am uncertain why anyone would want to bring a child into a world that forces us to fight to the death in our teens. His eyes are quite nice, too, I suppose, and he has a nice smile. A smile that he uses right now, as he admits to not having too many girls approaching him.

"Oh, come on! A handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special girl back home? I don't think so! There must be _some_body special! Come on, Shrimp! Don't be shy! We can keep a secret; can't we, guys?" He turns to the audience and they all applause in encouragement. He turns back to Booth with a big smile. "Come on, Seeley; isn't there _any_body you can think of?"

Booth looks down for a second, a shy smile spreading over his face. "Well, there is _one_ girl. I've sort of had a crush on her for a while but I don't think she even noticed me until the Reaping."

I wonder who he's talking about for a second but then I shake my head. What do I care?

"I knew it!" Hank says. The crowd laughs as if it's a joke. "So, what's her name? What's she like? Details, son, details."

Booth's smile grows softer and my heart rate picks up, inexplicably.

"She's really smart and she's really tough, too. You know? Like she can handle herself and she has these beautiful eyes; they're breathtaking! I love her eyes! But, I don't think she'll ever notice me…"

"And why not? You're a very handsome young man, if I can be so frank? How could she not notice you? And if you win, you can go back home and she'll probably be all over you, huh? She'll definitely have to notice you then, won't she?"

Booth looks away. "I don't think winning is really going to help me there," he says, looking almost…sad.

"Well, why not?" asks Hank.

He looks up at Hank, then at the crowd, then the camera, and back to Hank. He takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Because she came here with me."


	23. Chapter 22

**Surprise! I thought the last chapter was too short so I decided to write another one and update quick since I've neglected you guys so much lately! Enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty-Two

My heart stops. My jaw drops. Everything around me seems to just fade away; all sound dies down to a faraway buzz. My breathing becomes shallow and it feels like I've just been dropped into a frozen lake; it's so hard to breathe.

And then I see it; red. Nothing but red. My face heats up and my breathing is shallow for a reason; I'm fuming. I stand immediately, startling Daisy, who was practically sitting on top of me, and Hodgins, who looks over at me, seeming only mildly shocked at Booth's words.

I don't care about either of them, though, because the only person on my mind right now is the one currently walking through the curtain, walking shyly towards me, a large blush on his face.

"Hey, Brennan…" he starts but I don't let him finish. I march right up to him and swing my fist right at his face, landing a hard punch right on his left cheek, causing him to stumble back so far that he falls onto a potted plant against the wall. He doesn't even move to get up at first; he just stares at me, from his spot in the plant, rubbing his jaw, looking completely stunned.

I don't really even care that this is completely against the rules, though. I don't care that I could be killed right where I stand right now for punching him. All I care about is letting him know how _livid_ I am right now. "How dare you?" I practically screech, "How dare you make me look so ridiculous? And _weak_! What exactly are you trying to do?! You trying to get my defenses down? Huh? Is that what you're going for? Because I have news for you; it's not working! What, you think that by training privately and making me think you have a crush on me that I'm gonna go _easy_ on you?! Well, you're wrong! I am going to destroy you! I am going to-"

"Temperance!" Daisy's shrill voice interrupts my little tirade. I look over at her, sending her my best death glare, though about half of my anger dissipated with that punch to Booth's jaw.

"What?" I growl.

She gives me her own little death glare. "I think we better take this up to the Penthouse. Don't you, Hodgins?"

I look at Hodgins and his eyes are narrowed at me, angrily. "Yes," he says, "I think you're right. Upstairs," he orders, "now." There's no room for arguing, as his tone clearly states.

Reluctantly I straighten and start moving towards the elevator. I hear the crunching of glass and mulch as Booth is helped up from his seat on the broken vase, but nobody says a word.

We all ride the elevator up in eerie silence.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I'm lying in bed, unable to sleep because it's almost here. Tomorrow we will each have our own private training session with our mentors before heading off to be dressed and prepped for the arena. For the next few days I'll be fighting for my life against twenty-three others and I will most likely die. I'll be lucky if I'm not one of the first killed in the initial weapons battle at the Cornucopia. Or maybe I'll be lucky if my death is as quick and painless as those deaths often are. By the looks of that Pellant kid from Two, he looks as if he'd like nothing more than to torture all of his victims before finally finishing them off.

My stomach flips at this thought. I shouldn't be thinking of this right now; I should be working on trying to get to sleep.

It's hopeless, though, because it's impossible not to think of the many ways I could be killed in the next couple of days-the possibilities are endless.

And now I have to worry about stupid Booth and what he said tonight.

"_She came here with me._"

I can't believe he did that. What was he looking to gain from that? Did he really think I was so gullible as to actually believe him? Hodgins said that he only said that to protect me, make me seem desirable so I'd gain sponsors. That's bull! He did it so I wouldn't go after him, so I'd think he was an ally.

I sit up in my bed. I shouldn't be thinking about that, either. I should be resting, but my eyes refuse to stay closed. I get out of my bed; maybe a walk will calm me down.

I open my door, sneaking a glance at Booth's, as if expecting him to come out of it. He doesn't, of course, and I feel ridiculous for even thinking he would.

I creep down the hall, careful not to make any noise as I use to the door to the roof; a little fresh air could only be helpful right now.

As I step onto the roof I take a deep breath of the fresh night air. It's not as fresh as the air back in Twelve, around all the trees and plants, but it'll do. I walk towards the edge of the building, seriously considering jumping, when I see him.

Booth's silhouette is clear against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol. He's facing away from me, his head angled down, seemingly looking down at all the cars and people still milling about.

I'm still angry about what he did earlier but now is really not the time for fighting. Besides, the sight of his slumped shoulders is really unnerving. It's obviously not an act this time since there's nobody around for him to impress. He probably doesn't even know I'm here right now.

I walk up to stand beside him, looking over the city, then at him. He doesn't acknowledge me, but I can tell he knows I'm here.

"It's hard to imagine, isn't it," I say, breaking the silence, "that they can be going on with their lives as normal, not caring that they're about to send two dozen kids to their deaths?"

He nods. "Less one," he says, shaking his head, "how can they live with themselves?"

I shrug. "They're taught that this is normal, that we deserve it because of what our ancestors did to theirs all those years ago. They try to justify it to themselves; helps them sleep at night." I sigh. "It makes me sick, too. I feel like it would just be easier to jump over the side of the building right now, ya know?"

Booth seems to flinch before straightening and glancing over at me. "It wouldn't do any good," he says.

"Why not?" I ask.

He reaches out his hand in front of him and there's a slight spark as his finger seems to meet some invisible wall. He jerks his hand back and shakes it out. "Force field," he explains. I nod, understanding.

It was probably made for tributes like me.

"Well, there goes that idea," I mumble. He laughs and smiles at me.

His smile quickly disappears as he gives me a serious expression. "I'm sorry," he says, "for embarrassing you before. I really thought it would help you; that's what Hodgins said, anyway."

"Well it would have been nice for one of you to have filled me in on your little plan; I was completely taken by surprise. I'm sorry for punching you, by the way." My apology is heartfelt…sort of.

Booth chuckles, rubbing his cheek, which is just barely bruised. "It's fine. I'm a big boy; I can take it. And you had every right to, but, to be honest, I thought Hodgins told you about our plan."

I shake my head. "No. He purposely left that out of our conversations. Jerk."

Booth laughs, shaking his head. "You are something else, aren't you?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "I don't know what that means."

Booth shakes his head again. "Doesn't matter."

An awkward silence falls between us that I feel I have to break.

"Do you think you'll win?" I ask, seriously wanting to know how confident he is.

Booth shakes his head. "Not a chance," he says.

"Why not? You're pretty strong," I say, blushing slightly, "for a citizen of District Twelve, I mean."

He smiles. "I understand. Strength doesn't really matter that much does it?" He asks, "It's mostly about survival skills and smarts; both of which I don't have."

"How can you grow up in Twelve without survival skills?" I ask, only half-joking.

Booth shrugs. "Mom is a Baker. She's always made enough bread to feed her family. I've never really gone hungry before. No need to hone survival skills, you know?"

I shake my head. "No," I say, "I don't know. But I think I can imagine. So, how long do you think you'll last, then? I mean, if you're so sure you won't win."

Booth shrugs. "I dunno. I could last a few minutes or a few days. But, if it's the latter, then I definitely don't wanna die and not be myself; does that make sense?"

I shake my head. How could he not be himself when he dies?

He sighs. "I just mean…I don't want them, the Game Makers or the Games themselves, to change me-make me into some sort of monster that I'm not. If I'm going to die, I wanna still be me. You understand?"

I nod, slowly. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" It's a reasonable question.

Booth chuckles, humorlessly. "No, I'm sure when the time comes I'll kill like all the rest. But I just…I wanna show the Capitol that I don't belong to them, you know? That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not," I say, "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"But I'm still me," he says, "you're still you. They shouldn't be able to change that about us. Understand?"

"I think so, but, frankly, who cares, Booth?"

"I do!" he says, angrily, "Because if I'm not me when I die, then I'm nothing! I'm just another mindless drone, same as all the rest of the people in the Capitol."

"You shouldn't care too much about that," I advise, "care about what Hodgins said, about staying alive."

"Thanks for the tip, Sweetheart," he says, in a mocking tone.

I'm taken aback; he sounds just like Hodgins. It's like a slap to the face, his patronizing tone.

"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, be my guest. But I want to spend mine in District Twelve."

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," he says, "give my best to my father when you get back. Tell him he was right. Tell my mom I love her."

I can't stand it! This sarcastic, hopeless tone of his! "Count on it," I say, turning and walking away. If he won't help himself, who am I to help him?

I spend the rest of the night in my bed, tossing and turning, thinking about everything and everyone in my life. Angela, the Games, Booth, District Twelve, my mother, Hodgins, Gordon…it's all flooding my mind and there's no way to stop it.

I get less than two hours of sleep that night.

When I get up in the morning, at sunrise, Hodgins is already knocking at my door.

"Get up, girly!" he calls, gruffly, "Time for your last session!"

My last training session. The thought is both relieving and terrifying.

The Games are almost half over, but then, they've only just begun.

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	24. Chapter 23

**Hello again! New chapter! Enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Come on, Sweetie, one more time!" Hodgins orders as I stand up, my ass sore from my last fall. The entirety of our training session has been spent on self-defense maneuvers and how to knock off opponents without using any weapon other than our hands. He's taught me how to snap necks and pressure points that would immobilize my enemies and make it easier to suffocate or drown them. But, mostly, he has attacked me in different ways, instructing me, step-by-step, how to deflect it. Every maneuver is done no more than twice so that not a second of the session is wasted.

He's just shown me how to lock a predator in a headlock if they attack me from behind. It's my second chance to try it after my first attempt failed because Hodgins was fighting back and surprised me by swiping my feet out from underneath me, knocking me right on my ass.

I take a deep breath and stand up, preparing myself for his attack.

"You ready, Sweetheart?" he asks. I nod and within seconds he's behind me, throwing one arm over my shoulder and the other around my waist, his grip tight on me. I wrestle with him a little, trying to do what he taught me but the way he's holding me is restricting my movement.

The only thing I can think to do is flip him…so I do.

I take a short breath before bending over quickly, throwing him over me with my body. He loses his grip and lands on his face in front of me and I don't hesitate as I straddle his back, my knees digging into his hands, and lock my arms around his head.

Hodgins is silent for a moment-I suppose he's dazed by my move-but then a deep rumbling begins as he chuckles. "Okay!" he wheezes, "Sweetie, you can let go now!"

I can feel my face heat up as I release his head and get up off his back. "Sorry," I mumble.

Hodgins continues to laugh as he stands up. "Don't be sorry, Sweetheart; that was great! Good tactical thinking! My neck's gonna be a little sore for a while, though. But, still, really good." He looks down at his watch. "Okay, well that's the end of your training." He looks up at me. "Are you ready for the real thing?"

I shake my head. "Not at all." I glance down, take a deep breath. "But I guess that doesn't really matter now, does it?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I was given the luxury of one last shower before being sent down to Gordon for preparation. I choose the last clothes I have in my dresser to wear down there; a pair of denim jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt. Before I leave, I look around the room one more time. The red-haired girl is here, making the bed and cleaning the room, making it spotless for the next guests. I feel as if I need to say something to her; anything.

"I'm leaving now," I announce, and she turns to me, frowning, before walking over to me.

She signs something with her hand; I think it may be, "Good luck."

I smile. "Thank you." I say, not just for the well wishes.

She smiles and takes my hand, nodding. I take it as, "You're welcome."

I smile one last time before dropping her hand and turning to walk out the door. I stop and wave once more before walking out.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Gordon dresses me in simple black clothes; black cargo pants and a skintight, black shirt with a high neck and sleeves that go down to my wrists. The shirt tucks into the pants and he gives me a jacket to go over it.

As he's putting my jacket on I feel something brushing my chest; something hard and round.

I look down and my eyes widen at the sight of my Mockingjay pin, which I'd completely forgotten about until this moment.

I look back up at him, confused; how could he have gotten this?

He smiles at me. "Your Avox brought it to me. It was attached to that dress of your mother's. Don't worry; we sent it back to her."

I smile and thank him and he pulls me into an embrace. "Try your hardest out there, okay?" he whispers in my ear. "If anybody can win this thing, I believe it would be you, Temperance."

I smile at him. "Thank you," I say, fighting back tears. Nervously, I reach back to toy with my braid (he'd ordered his team to give me the same one my mom had done the first day I was here. It's comforting as I look in the mirror at myself; I look like myself, again. Not the silly 'Girl on Fire' I've been portraying for the last few days. Just me. Just Temperance.

But I'm wearing tribute clothing.

I take a deep breath and turn as Hodgins and Daisy walk in.

"Temperance, are you ready to go, Dear?" Daisy asks. I nod and turn back to Gordon.

"Thank you," I say. It's much easier than good-bye. I wouldn't be able to survive another good-bye.

He smiles sadly at me. "Good luck."

I smile sadly at him before I'm led out by Hodgins and Daisy by my arms.

**Sorry this chapter is so short but I've been up half the night with Hurricane Sandy blowing in my ears. Thankfully, my town didn't lose power but there's still a lot of damage. No school until Friday, though =D Anyway, please REVIEW!**


	25. Chapter 24

**Happy Halloween!**

Chapter Twenty-Four

We're all seated in a large hovercraft, larger than any I'd seen before in my life or even in the Capitol. Booth and I are seated across from each other, facing one another. Michelle is next to me, her seat almost twice her size she's so small. She's looking down at her hands, twisting them nervously. I want to take on of them and hold it, try to reassure her, but I know anything I'd say or do would just be a lie.

I look over at Booth, who looks away as soon as my eyes land on him. Has he been staring at me? Creep.

A woman is stopping in front of each of us, taking each tribute's arm and sticking it with a needle. When she gets to Michelle, I ask her what it's for.

"It's your tracker," she says. "The Game Makers use it to know where you are in the arena. It doesn't hurt for too long." Michelle rubs her arm as if to disagree. The woman reloads her needle and puts her hand out for my arm. I give it to her, reluctantly.

The needle _does_ hurt. And I can feel the tracker settle under my skin; it's not pleasant.

She does the same to Booth and I can see him wince. I feel my own jaw clench at it, but then his face turns to stone and he looks away. I can swear I see him wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, though.

Before I entered the hovercraft, Daisy had hugged me tightly wishing me good luck and kissing my forehead. If I didn't know any better, I would say she finally understood how horrible and malicious these Games are and how she would most likely never see me again.

But when she pulled back and looked me in the eyes, I could tell that that wasn't true. She was smiling brightly at me. "I'll see you later," she said, happily, before walking off. I just stared at her retreating form, shaking my head.

Hodgins came up next to me. "She's clueless, ain't she?" he said. I nodded, sighing.

"She really is," I said, turning to him. Hodgins was looking at me with a hopeless expression. He placed on hand on my shoulder, almost comfortingly.

"Remember what I taught you, okay? And when you get to the Arena, don't forget to wait a full minute before you step off that platform or you'll be blown to pieces. An-and don't go towards the Cornucopia, either. There's a fifty percent chance you won't even make it out of there alive. Got it? Run away from it. Understand?" He forced my eyes to meet his and I nodded.

"Got it." He nodded and pulled me into a hug, shocking me completely.

He must've felt the way I stiffened in his hold because he almost immediately let me go. "Just…try to come back. Okay, kid?"

I nodded and he smiled awkwardly, pushing me towards the hovercraft. I stepped on without another glance.

Now, the hovercraft is taking off, bringing us to the arena where we will fight for our lives and end up with just one survivor; one out of 24. I sigh and close my eyes, trying not to think about it.

Within a few hours we arrive at the arena and the hovercraft lands in an underground tunnel. Each tribute is led out by two guards, who are to ensure that they make it to their own specified entrance without escape.

None of us even attempt at one.

I'm led to a small room in which there is almost nothing but four bare walls, a small couch, and a large, clear tube protruding from the ceiling.

"You may sit and relax for a few moments," one of the guards says, "but as soon as the announcement is made, you must get in the tube. You have a minute and if you're still not in it by the time we return, we have authorization to kill."

I remember this happening twice before. The tributes from 6 and 11 had not been there and though it was not said why, we all knew, instinctively. They had done something that had brought their deaths on earlier than planned. This must have been it.

I nod, in compliance. Of course I'll get into the tube. The chances of me surviving in the arena are slim to none, but at least they're better than being definitely killed if I disobeyed the Capitol. Besides, I promised Angela I'd try. I can't let her down.

The guards exit and I move my hand to the doorknob on the door; it's locked from the outside. Of course. No means of escape.

I sit down on the couch in the corner, lay my head in my hands and take a deep breath.

I can do this. I'm a hunter. I've fought every day for my life since I was eleven years old. I've fought starvation, sickness, cold, you name it.

Yeah, I can do this.

The announcement snaps me out of my thoughts of Angela, Sully, and my mother.

"All tributes are now to enter their tubes. You have sixty seconds before they close."

I stand and walk towards the tube, thoughts of Angela and Sully racing through my head. I may never see them again. And my mother…what if she leaves again? What if she leaves Angela? How will my sister survive? She can't lose the last family she has. God, I wish my father was still alive…

I enter the tube, leaning against the side, take a deep breath as the countdown concludes.

"_5…4…3…2…1…"_

I am startled when the tube closes up and the ground beneath my feet begins to move, pushing me upwards. I reach out to steady myself on the sides of the tube, but then realize that I don't need to. My feet are perfectly balanced by a current of electricity coming through the floor. I stand perfectly still and find that my legs don't shake at all as I ascend.

Within seconds I begin to see a light at the end of the tunnel; sunlight.

My head appears aboveground and I get a good look around. The arena is a forested area that seems to stretch on for miles and I get the sudden yearning for home; to be back in my own forest outside District Twelve. All 24 of us are position in a circle around the Cornucopia, weapons and supplies scattered all around it. My heart jumps as I spot a bow and arrows-_my_ bow and arrows.

The current that was holding my feet releases them and I shake a bit on my feet before steadying myself. I want nothing more than to run out to my bow but knowledge of what would happen to me if I did keeps me still. I look over at where Booth is standing and he's looking at me again. I think he's shaking his head, but why would he-

Oh.

_Oh…_

Hodgins must've told him the same thing he told me; run away from the Cornucopia, not towards it. He's seen me eying the bow and arrows. He knows what I'm planning on doing.

Well, he's not going to stop me. I'm getting that bow and those arrows; they're for me. I might also need to get one of the backpacks, as well. They're most likely filled with supplies, like food or water that I could use, at least until I find some of my own. There must be a river or a lake nearby…

The Countdown begins as the last of the tributes reach ground level. There's a large screen at the Cornucopia, so that we can see how much time is left.

Landmines are placed all around us, set to go off if any of us steps off our platform early. It's happened too many times in Hunger Games history where tributes were just too impatient and ended up being scraped from the floors.

I'm not dumb enough to risk that.

I eye all the other tributes.

Hannah and Wendell are eying the mass arsenal of weapons, while Cam is looking at the food, probably calculating how much she'll be able to carry with her. Pelant is looking around at all the others, as well. He's from Two so he's probably a volunteer. Only, unlike me, he didn't volunteer to help anybody he really cares about. He did it for the fame.

I wonder if Angela is watching right now. I know that Sully isn't. He never really enjoyed watching the Games and I'm sure he wouldn't enjoy it any more now that his best friend is taking part. Angela, though, I know she's watching; she'll want to make sure that I'm keeping my promise. And that I'm safe and alive.

I make a mental note for if I get out of here to never leave her again.

The countdown has reached ten now.

_10…9…8…_

I don't know if I'm ready for this.

_7…6…5…_

What if I get out there and get immediately stabbed by Cam or Pelant?

_4…3…2…_

It's too late now. Ready or not…

…_1…_

"The Hunger Games have begun! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

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	26. Chapter 25

**Happy Halloween!...Almost. It is in my town because of Hurricane Sandy. Anyway, enjoy!  
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Chapter Twenty-Five

All is still and silent for about ten seconds after the announcement-it's like nobody believes that the Games have started. I see tributes glancing at each other, curiously, sizing each one up for the last time before something changes.

Wendell and Pelant have both taken off, running towards the Cornucopia. It sets off a chain reaction and soon every other tribute is following their lead, some running towards one another. The fox-faced girl, Peyton, runs straight towards the forest, dodging flying weapons and disappearing into the trees.

I'm the only one left on my platform and I quickly step off, running straight for the bow and arrows, but something comes at me from the side and I look up, just in time to see the male tribute from Three coming at me, a sword raised above his head and a bright orange backpack slung over his shoulder. I put my arms up as if to shield myself from the inevitable blow, but he stops suddenly, his eyes go wide and his arms go slack, dropping the sword at his side, and he falls forward, dead.

I look up to see what, or rather _who_, killed him and I see Cam coming at me, a second knife raising above her head, murder in her eyes. I have barely three seconds to pull Three's backpack off of him and shield myself with it. The knife lodges into the pack and I scramble to my feet, turning towards the forest and dodging another knife as I run for my life.

I make it through the trees and duck into a large bush before I check to see that I'm safe. Cam has given up, apparently.

I take a deep breath and take a moment to sit and sift through my bag. Inside I find a rope, a sleeping bag, a couple of apples, some iodine (to purify the water), matches, and a metal water bottle. I press the mouth of the bottle to my lips and tip my head back…but there's not a drop of water inside.

I open the bottle and turn it upside-down.

Nothing.

I'll have to find water by myself, I guess. There has to be a lake or something nearby. It shouldn't take me too long.

I stand and check that the coast is clear before moving out of the bush, my backpack in place. I start walking away from the Cornucopia, trying to figure out how much sunlight I have left; I think, about a good three or four hours before I have to set up camp.

I consider taking an apple out of my bag for something to snack on, but decide against it. I only have a few and I don't want to waste any before I'm absolutely sure that I'll be able to find another source of food. And I can't be sure about the vegetation here; the Game Makers could have made it poisonous.

They did that one year. The arena was a forested area, like this one, only there were bushels of strawberries and fruits, and vegetables growing all around, but every tribute that had stopped to eat had keeled over almost as soon as the food touched their tongues. That's why I don't trust anything they provide. The backpack on my back, like much of the food supplies back at the Cornucopia, is provided by Sponsors. I just wish they could've chosen a more earthy color; I'm going to have to cover the fluorescent orange with mud in order to blend in.

These are the thoughts going through my head when I'm startled by a figure running through the trees not too far from me. I pause where I am, hoping that they don't see me, but they do and soon they're running towards me, raising a weapon. I turn and run away, weaving to avoid being struck by any weapon they might be planning on throwing at me. A large knife strikes a tree next to me and I run away from it, tripping over a rock and swiftly rolling down a hill. I make no move to stop myself from rolling, however, hoping that my attacker won't follow.

He, or she, doesn't seem to think I'm worth it, or they think I'm going to die, soon, anyway, and they walk away. I'm relieved and I look back up the hill even as I walk briskly, deeper into the forest. Soon I start picking up speed, running.

It feels great to run, the burn in my legs making me feel more alive, _freer_ that I've felt in ages.

I close my eyes and take a breath, breathing in the fresh air and spicy smells of the forest, and I'm just opening my eyes as I run headfirst into Fox Face herself, Peyton Perotta.

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	27. Chapter 26

**I'm baa-aack! Hello, all! Today, I have laryngitis and since I cannot talk, I decided I would write! Lucky you! Enjoy!**

Chapter Twenty-Six

I literally feel my blood freeze in my veins. I can't move a muscle as a chill runs down my spine. I just stare at her, not moving, not breathing, just waiting for the moment when she will undoubtedly bring up a weapon against me and end it all.

But, she doesn't. She just stares right back at me, her eyes wide with fright, and her face pale as a ghost. By the lack of movement in her chest, I would say she isn't breathing either.

Why isn't she moving? Why does she look so…frightened? Can't she tell that she could probably kill me faster than I could kill her? Why won't she just _get up _already?

And as if willing it with my mind, Foxface stands, but she doesn't move towards me. No, she starts walking backwards, her eyes locked on my, never blinking, as she moves quickly away. Then, she turns completely around and sprints into the surrounding brush.

That's…strange, I guess. I mean, I don't exactly blame her for being frightened-we are all out to kill each other, after all-but common sense would have told her that she could definitely take me, no problem. I wonder why she ran like that…it's not like I was moving at all. She had a clear window and she blew it.

I shake my head. There's no sense in pondering over the actions of others; I have to move on.

I grab my bag from where it fell when I ran smack into Peyton and continue on my quest for water.

I walk for hours with no luck, not even a little mud to point me in the right direction or cover up my very noticeable backpack. I finally stop to rest around sundown, camping out in a tree.

I climbed to one of the highest branches, tying myself and my sleeping bag to the branch, tight enough so that if I somehow flipped over in my sleep, I wouldn't fall completely out of the tree. I slip my backpack into the sleeping bag, at my feet, so that it won't be spotted and give my position away at such a vulnerable time.

Finally, I will myself to relax, much on an appl from my bag and look up at the sky.

Any moment, the-

BOOM!

The cannons; they fire every night and after every death. They also recount the number of deaths each day has.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Each tribute's face flashes in the sky as their cannon sounds. I count twelve. Half of us gone, _already_.

The Capitol Seal appears in the sky as the anthem plays and then everything is dark and silent.

Except…something is burning. My eyes widen and I look all around, expecting to see a tribute below myself, lighting my tree on fire. But, there's no one. I'm confused by this for a moment when I notice the smoke coming from a couple dozen feet away.

There's a female tribute sitting in front of a fire, warming her hands, fanning the flames every few minutes, creating even more smoke.

She'd going to get herself killed.

"Lookie what we got here!" I spoke too soon. I can just make out Christopher Pelant's voice, the Career Tribute from 2. I can hear other voices; I'm assuming the other tribute from 2 and the ones from 1 as well. There might be more than that but I can't see their faces and they're moving around the girl so it's hard to get a good head count.

I can still see the girl's face, though. It's frozen in fright and as pale as Peyton's had been when we ran into each other. She's looking all around her, supposedly for an escape route.

There is none.

"Please," she begs, her voice shaky with fear, "_please_…don't hurt me."

Cam starts laughing, hysterically, like that's the funniest joke she's ever heard. And it probably is.

The others begin laughing with her and soon they're all cracking up, standing in a circle around this girl. She tries to make a getaway, but Pelant stops her.

"Hey," he says, "where ya going? The party's just getting started." Then, just like that, he raises the sword in his hand and slashes the girl across the neck. She falls to the ground, motionless.

"Too easy," Hannah grumbles, "we could, at least, have had some fun with her, ya know?" She steps closer to Pelant (at least I assume that it's her, judging by the way one leg goes up, flirtingly).

"Let's just get a move on," Cam says, coldly. I see her walk into sight, coming towards me. I shrink into the leaves on the tree.

The others follow close behind and finally reveal themselves to me, one by one. I see Cam, followed closely by Pelant and Hannah, then Wendell, another male tribute, and then-

"Hey!" Pelant turns around. "Did you hear that?" The last tribute stops just before I can see who he is. "I think she's still alive!" Pelant lets go of Hannah and pulls out his sword, going back to finish the job, but the last tribute stops him.

"Wait a minute!" He exclaims, before clearing his throat. "Uh…I'll take care of it."

My heart stops because I recognize that voice.

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